THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


™ 


Permit  me  to  relieve  you  of  tliat  heavy  bag.'" 


IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 


BY 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE  ROSE  OF  OLD  ST.  LOUIS" 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  C.  M.  RELYEA 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1919 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Published  January,  1096 


~2i  ^  £>  "I 
«— •  •**•»  *••'    i 


TO  THE 

DESCENDANTS  OF  DR.  AND  MES.  CHAELTON 
TO  THE  SECOND  AND  THIED  GENERATION, 

AND   TO   THOSE   STILL   LIVING  WHO   KNEW  AND 

LOVED   THEM   BOTH   IN   THE   GOLDEN  DAYS 

OF   OLD   BELLAIRE,  THIS   STORY 

IS  AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

i  AN  ARRIVAL 3 

ii  EUNICE  HARLOWB .    .    18 

in  HOME-COMING 28 

rv  THE  PATRONEE  PARTY 35 

v  THE  HANDSOMEST  MAN  IN  THE  ARMY    ...    55 

vi  A  NEW  ENGLAND  CONSCIENCE 71 

vn  CHOIR  REHEARSAL 84 

viii  SUNDAY  IN  BELLAIRE 101 

rx  A  SUGGESTION 108 

x  A  FACULTY  TEA 115 

xi  A  WHITE  ROSE 131 

xn  A  MORNING  WALK 147 

xm  A  SOIREE  MUSICALE 164 

xiv  AN  UNCONDITIONAL  SURRENDER 184 

xv  OF  THE  SAME  OPINION 196 

xvi  A  SAD  GOOD-BY 211 

xvn  AFTER  BREAKFAST 225 

xvin  A  STERN  RESOLVE 240 

xrx  THE  GUNS  OF  SUMTER 247 

xx  WEARING  HER  COLORS 255 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

xxi  FLIGHT  FROM  THE  OLD  TOWN 267 

xxn  DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM 279 

XXITT  THE  GENERAL'S  AIDE 301 

xxiv  MAJOR  MCALLISTER 310 

xxv  SHOT  AND  SHELL 319 

xxvi  A  FAREWELL  MESSAGE 341 

xxvn  AFTER  FOUR  YEARS  .  352 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

4 

" '  Permit  me  to  relieve  you  of  that  heavy  bag ' "  Frontispiece 

FACING  PADS 

"  He  was  talking  with  a  purpose  now  "...'...  140 

"  She  stole  quickly  away  " 224 

Wearing  her  colors 266 

" '  Tell  her  a  friend  in  the  Southern  army  sent  it ' »  .  .  308 

On  the  battle-field  .  348 


IN  OLD  BELLAIKE 


IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 


CHAPTER  I 

AN  ARRIVAL 

BELLAIRE  is,  or  was  when  I  knew  it,  a  most 
charmingly  quaint  old  town,  half  old  English 
and  half  very  old  German,  with  the  most  delightfully 
aristocratic  and  exclusive  society.  Not  that  the  town 
seemed  quaint  to  me  then,  or  the  society  remarkable : 
I  had  never  known  any  other.  But  I  have  lived  in 
many  places  since,  and  I  have  known  many  kinds  of 
people,  and  I  have  come  to  think  that  none  of  them 
can  compare  with  Bellaire  or  Bellairians  in  the  six 
ties. 

The  college  people  held  undisputed  sway  in  west 
end,  where  Old  Tomlinson,  as  we  loved  to  call  her, 
sat  gray  with  her  hundred  years  beneath  the  shade 
of  her  spreading  maples  and  lindens,  while  the  army 
people  dominated  the  eastern  end,  in  the  fine  old  bar 
racks  built  of  yellow  brick,  brought  over  for  the  pur 
pose  by  the  English  before  the  Revolution.  Those 
of  you  who  go  to  Bellaire  now  have  no  idea  how  beau 
tiful  the  old  barracks  were  before  that  summer  of  '63, 


4  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

when  they  were  burned  by  Fitzhugh  Lee,  the  stately 
trees  mutilated  or  entirely  cut  down,  and  the  velvet 
lawns  trampled  into  mire,  never  to  be  restored  to  their 
former  perfection. 

From  the  barracks  to  the  college  stretched  the  long 
Main  Street,  where  society  proper  dwelt.  Not  to 
inhabit  one  of  the  substantial  dwellings  planted 
firmly  on  the  brick  sidewalk  of  that  thoroughfare 
was  almost  to  be  ostracized  in  Bellaire  society.  There 
were  other  residence  streets  and  other  residences,  on 
Portland,  Langdon,  and  Harcourt,  for  instance,  per 
haps  quite  as  fine  as  anything  Main  could  boast;  but 
Main  Street  residents  either  pitied  or  patronized  or 
entirely  ignored  their  less  fortunate  neighbors.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  young  women  whose  hard  lot 
doomed  them  to  dwell  on  the  "back"  streets  eagerly 
cultivated  their  Main  Street  friends,  that  they  might 
have  a  stoop  whereon  to  sit  on  pleasant  summer 
mornings  or  cool  summer  evenings ;  for  the  great  dis 
sipation  of  Bellaire  was  to  watch  the  trains  come  in 
from  Henrysburg  and  Marystown  at  ten  in  the  morn 
ing  and  six  in  the  afternoon.  The  track  passed  the 
whole  length  of  Main  Street,  and  the  station  was  in 
the  old  Mansion  House  in  the  very  heart  of  the  town, 
and  a  little  before  train-time  every  stoop  was  filled 
with  pretty  maidens  in  the  freshest  and  daintiest  of 
summer  lawns  and  linens. 

It  was  not  the  trains,  however,  that  was  so  much 
the  attraction,  though  their  coming  was  always  an  ex 
citement  in  that  quiet  town,  with  the  arrivals  and 
departures  to  be  commented  upon— it  was  not  so  much 


AN  ARRIVAL  5 

the  trains,  I  think,  as  what  followed.  For  very 
shortly  after  their  arrival,  from  the  east  end  of  town 
came  the  dashing  cavalry  officers  after  their  mail; 
and  as  they  always  came  before  the  slow  old  post 
master  and  his  assistants  had  distributed  it  (nothing 
v/as  ever  done  in  a  hurry  in  Bellaire),  they  employed 
the  waiting  interval  either  in  making  informal  calls 
at  the  most  popular  stoops,  or  in  displaying  their  fine 
horsemanship  and  finer  horses  by  racing  from  one 
end  of  the  town  to  the  other,  sure  of  admiring  glances 
from  many  bright  eyes. 

Then,  besides  the  officers  from  the  east  end  were  the 
students  from  the  west  end,  coming  down  the  street 
in  twos  or  threes  or  larger  numbers  after  their  mail, 
and  stopping  at  their  favorite  stoops — generally  not 
the  ones  the  officers  patronized — until  Main  Street, 
or  at  least  the  two  blocks  from  Harcourt  to  College, 
would  have  impressed  a  stranger  with  the  idea  that 
he  had  lighted  upon  a  midsummer  festival  or  open-air 
reception. 

Those  were  halcyon  days,  but  they  belong  to  the 
golden  past.  The  cavalry  school,  with  its  dashing 
young  officers,  was  removed  soon  after  the  close  of  the 
war,  and  I  fancy  society  in  Bellaire  has  never  ceased 
to  mourn  their  loss.  To  be  sure,  the  students  are  left ; 
but  I  have  been  back  to  Bellaire  several  times  in  the 
last  thirty  years,  and  I  have  thought  the  class  of  stu 
dents  changed.  They  seem  so  much  younger,  and  not 
half  so  handsome,  chivalrous,  and  high-toned  as  the 
young  heroes  of  my  girlhood.  Possibly  the  Bellaire 
girls  of  to-day  would  not  agree  with  me;  but  I  can- 


6  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

not  help  feeling  a  little  sorry  for  them,  that  they  can 
never  know  what  a  fine  set  of  young  fellows  our 
Toms  and  Dicks  and  Harrys  were. 

It  was  five  minutes  to  ten  o'clock  on  the  fifth  of 
September,  1860,  when  a  group  was  gathered  on  the 
door-step  of  the  Burton  mansion,  momentarily  ex 
pecting  the  whistle  of  the  Henrysburg  train.  It  was 
a  few  minutes  late;  the  train  from  Marystown  was 
already  on  the  siding  in  front  of  the  campus,  puffing 
and  blowing,  as  it  impatiently  waited  its  turn  to  run 
into  the  station  after  the  passing  of  its  consort. 

It  was  a  perfect  September  day,  and  the  whole 
Northumberland  valley  lay  basking  under  an  Italian 
sky.  The  town  itself  was  gently  simmering  in  the 
torrid  blaze,  but  its  magnificent  elms  and  maples  had 
not  then  been  cut  down  to  barricade  against  Lee's 
cavalry,  and  there  was  plenty  of  cool  green  shade  to 
moderate  the  hot  glare  reflected  from  brick  walls  and 
brick  sidewalks. 

We  were  proud  of  the  Burton  mansion.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  its  double  flight  of  stone  steps,  protected 
by  iron  railings,  rising  in  symmetrical  curves  to  meet 
the  white-pillared  porch,  would  be  called  Old  Colonial 
now ;  but  I  do  not  remember  that  in  those  days  we  had 
ever  heard  of  Old  Colonial,  and  we  thought  it  simply 
a  very  fine  house,  to  be  pointed  out  with  pride  to  our 
chance  guests  as  a  fitting  residence  for  one  of  our 
oldest  families. 

The  Burtons  were  acknowledged  leaders  in  style. 
Nobody  who  made  any  pretensions  to  fashion  or  taste 


AN  ARRIVAL  7 

thought  of  getting  their  new  Bonnets  or  frocks  until 
after  the  return  of  the  Misses  Burton  from  their  two 
months'  sojourn  in  Philadelphia,  spent  among  their 
grand  relations  on  Spruce  and  Walnut  streets.  To 
be  sure,  it  sometimes  made  us  a  little  late  with 
our  winter  wardrobes,  for  they  often  did  not 
get  home  until  Christmas;  but  we  would  have 
worn  our  old  clothes  all  winter  rather  than  have 
suffered  the  mortification  of  not  having  our  new 
ones  as  exact  copies  of  the  Philadelphia  toilets 
as  our  country  milliners  and  dressmakers  could 
manage. 

On  this  September  morning  there  were  on  the  Bur 
ton  porch  and  steps— besides  Miss  Sallie  Burton  and 
her  younger  sister,  Miss  Mazie — their  cousin,  the 
beautiful  Miss  Marcia  Morris,  and  Miss  Lydia 
McNair,  a  dashing  belle  of  the  army  set,  on  the 
friendliest  terms  with  all  the  officers,  but  not  dis 
daining  also  to  reckon  a  young  collegian  or  two  in 
her  train. 

She  was  sitting  now  on  one  of  the  lower  steps  of 
the  curved  flight,  talking  to  a  handsome  young  lieu 
tenant,  who  had  dismounted  and  was  holding  his  horse 
by  the  bridle,  which  required  his  standing  near  the 
curb,  and  necessitated  Miss  Lydia  raising  her  voice 
more  than  was  considered  quite  proper  in  staid  Bel- 
laire.  But  Miss  Lydia  had  little  regard  for  small 
conventions.  She  rather  liked  to  talk  loud  and  laugh 
loud,  if  occasion  permitted.  The  men  all  liked  her, 
and  so  did  some  of  the  women,  and  the  rest  tol 
erated  her  for  the  sake  of  the  men,  and  because  no 

2 


8  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

bluer  blood  could  be  found  in  Pennsylvania  than 
flowed  in  the  veins  of  the  McNairs. 

By  her  side  stood  Rex  McAllister,  a  South  Caro 
linian,  and  the  beau  and  exquisite  of  the  college. 
In  those  days  the  old  college  drew  its  patronage  al 
most  entirely  from  the  South :  Maryland  and  Virginia, 
the  Eastern  Shore,  the  two  Carolinas,  Georgia,  and 
even  occasionally  Alabama  and  Mississippi,  sent  their 
sons  to  its  venerable  halls.  The  modest  little  college 
has  perhaps  no  exalted  reputation  in  the  East  and 
North,  but  among  Southerners  of  the  passing  genera 
tion,  or  the  little  remnant  of  it  left  by  that  terrible 
war,  it  is  not  unknown  to  fame.  They  were  fine  fel 
lows  as  I  remember  them,  those  ardent,  hot-headed 
Southerners,  with  the  most  beautiful  manners  in  the 
world;  and  if  they  had  any  vices,  they  kept  them 
decorously  out  of  sight,  so  that  the  recipients  of  their 
devotion  were  at  liberty  to  give  full  rein  to  their 
imaginations  and  endow  them  with  all  the  heroic 
virtues. 

Rex  McAllister  stood  with  one  slender,  arched  foot, 
incased  in  a  closely  fitting  boot  of  calf,  resting  on 
the  lower  step  as  he  alternately  looked  up  to  utter 
some  pretty  compliment  to  Miss  Morris  on  the  upper 
step,  or  down  to  answer  some  saucy  speech  of  Miss 
Lydia's.  The  attitude  showed  to  advantage  his  tall, 
slender  figure,  his  shoulders,  built  squarely  out  by 
careful  padding  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  day,  and  his 
long  coat,  of  finest  broadcloth,  almost  sweeping  the 
ground  as  he  stood,  buttoned  closely  about  a  waist  that 
his  envious  admirers  said  could  have  been  reduced  to 


AN  ARRIVAL  9 

such  ladylike  dimensions  only  by  steels  and  lacers. 
In  one  hand  he  twirled  a  slender  ebony  cane,  sur 
mounted  by  a  shapely  leg  and  foot  in  ivory,  and  in 
the  other  he  held  his  broad  palmetto  hat,  removed 
out  of  deference  to  the  ladies  or  because  of  the  in 
tense  heat,  or  perhaps  to  display  to  better  advantage 
the  coal-black  curls,  not  too  closely  cropped,  whose 
moderate  gloss,  and  the  delicate  perfume  they  exhaled, 
showed  that  he  had  a  finer  taste  in  hair-oils  than  many 
of  the  men  of  that  day.  His  Byronic  collar,  neither 
stiff  nor  glossy,  and  his  loosely  tied  bow  with  uneven 
ends,  were  the  only  careless  points  in  his  dress;  and 
no  one  could  doubt  for  a  moment  that  this  was  a 
studied  neglect  to  heighten  the  resemblance  to  the 
poet  that  the  flashing  black  eyes  and  smoothly  shaven 
face  rendered  sufficiently  obvious  to  the  most  casual 
glance. 

Miss  Lydia's  loud  talking  and  laughing  had  an 
noyed  his  somewhat  punctilious  ideas  of  propriety, 
and  he  was  rather  pointedly  devoting  himself  to  Miss 
Marcia,  whose  manners  were  as  faultless  as  her  face, 
when  a  specially  loud  burst  of  laughter  drew  the 
attention  of  the  whole  party  to  Miss  Lydia.  Her 
hands  were  clasping  her  round  waist,  her  head  thrown 
back,  her  eyes  tightly  closed,  her  shapely  mouth  open, 
disclosing  two  rows  of  white  teeth,  between  which 
rolled  a  quick  succession  of  merry  peals.  She  was 
in  the  very  agonies  of  mirth.  The  lieutenant  stood 
regarding  her  with  anything  but  a  mirthful  glance, 
a  deep  flush  of  anger  or  mortification  rising  to  the 
very  roots  of  his  closely  cropped  military  hair,  and 


10  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

one  hand  pulling  savagely  at  his  fierce  cavalry  mus 
tache.  Everybody  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment  in  dumb 
astonishment,  and  then  Miss  Sallie  Burton  called 
down  from  the  vestibule  step : 

"Why,  Lyd  McNair,  what  is  the  matter?" 

And  Miss  Marcia  said  coldly:  "You  might  at  least 
let  us  share  your  fun,  Lydia." 

To  both  of  which  speeches  Miss  Lydia  responded 
only  by  swaying  back  and  forth  and  by  renewed  peals 
of  laughter. 

"You  will  have  to  enlighten  us,  Lieutenant  Wat 
son,  ' '  said  Rex  McAllister,  turning  to  the  officer,  who 
now  seemed  undetermined  whether  to  mount  his  horse 
and  leave  Miss  Lydia  to  recover  at  her  leisure,  or  to 
await  the  apology  he  considered  due  him. 

He  answered  stiffly:  "You  must  ask  Miss  McNair; 
she  is  pleased  to  be  merry  this  morning.  That  is  all 
I  know." 

"Oh— I— beg  your  pardon,"  gasped  Miss  Lydia; 
"but  you — are — too  funny,"  and  she  was  again  seized 
with  a  spasm  that  threatened  to  be  hysterical. 

McAllister  suddenly  broke  the  perplexed  silence  of 
the  others : 

' '  By  Hercules !  here  comes  Dr.  Charlton  post-haste. 
Do  you  suppose  he  is  after  me?  Can't  you  hide  me 
somewhere,  Miss  Burton?" 

The  college  bell  was  ringing  the  ten-o'clock  hour, 
and  McAllister  was  due  at  a  recitation  in  "Paley's 
Evidences"  to  the  doctor,  which  he  had  just  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  cutting. 

His  exclamation  had  an  electrical  effect  upon  Miss 


AN  ARRIVAL  11 

Lydia.  She  sat  erect  at  once,  her  hands  dropped  de 
murely  in  her  lap,  her  mouth  shut,  her  eyes  wide 
open. 

"Do  you  think  he  saw  me?"  she  said  in  an  awe 
struck  whisper  to  McAllister,  who  was  as  astonished 
at  her  sudden  recovery  as  he  had  been  at  her  seizure. 

There  was  one  being  in  the  world  for  whom  Lydia 
McNair  entertained  the  profoundest  reverence,  and 
he  was  at  that  moment  coming  down  the  street,  his 
old-fashioned  and  somewhat  rusty  swallow-tailed  coat 
flying  open  to  disclose  a  flowered-satin  waistcoat,  the 
tails  streaming  behind  him  with  the  rapidity  of  his 
progress,  his  high  black-silk  stock  slightly  awry,  his 
black  beaver  hat  pushed  a  little  back,  his  slight  figure 
bent  eagerly  forward,  his  gold-headed  cane  grasped 
belligerently  in  his  hand,  his  pale,  scholarly  face 
flushed  with  his  unusual  exertion.  In  fact,  the  dig 
nified  doctor  was  evidently  in  a  tremendous  hurry, 
and,  absorbed  by  one  idea,  perfectly  oblivious  of  the 
ridiculous  figure  he  made.  The  group  on  the  steps 
now  saw  something  to  laugh  at,  and  were  inclined 
to  emulate  Miss  Lydia 's  example,  but  Miss  Lydia 
herself  was  rigidly  sober. 

The  train  was  overdue,  but  its  whistle  had  been 
heard  from  the  bridge  at  the  lower  end  of  Main 
Street,  and  now  the  rolling  smoke  was  visible  through 
the  trees  of  the  Square,  and  the  ringing  of  the  bell 
and  the  puffing  of  the  engine  were  plainly  audible. 

"He  is  going  to  take  the  train,  and  thinks  he  is 
late,"  murmured  Miss  Lydia. 

At  that  moment  the  doctor  came  abreast  of  the  lit- 


12  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

tie  party  and  became  conscious  of  two  things:  one 
was  that  the  train  had  not  yet  arrived  and  he  was 
in  time,  and  the  other  that  his  undignified  haste  was 
affording  amusement  and  comment  to  a  select  group 
of  Bellaire's  haut  ton.  He  drew  himself  erect,  low 
ered  his  cane,  pulled  forward  his  hat,  and  stopped. 
The  two  ends  of  his  black  stock  still  fluttered  be 
neath  his  left  ear,  but  he  had  not  been  aware  of  their 
disarrangement,  and  so  was  calmly  unconscious  of 
them.  The  tails  of  his  coat  gently  subsided  from 
their  angle  of  velocity  as  his  pace  slackened,  and  now, 
as  he  regarded  the  little  circle  with  a  pleasant  smile 
and  a  benignant  glance  from  his  mild  blue  eyes,  he 
was  as  fine  a  picture  of  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar  as 
one  might  ever  see. 

At  his  courteous  ' '  Good  morning,  ladies ;  good  morn 
ing,  gentlemen,"  the  ladies  rose  to  their  feet,  and 
the  men  stood  with  their  hats  held  deferentially  to 
the  side  of  their  heads.  It  was  Miss  Lydia  who 
dared  to  respond  with  more  than  a  simple  "Good 
morning. ' ' 

"Are  you  going  to  take  the  train,  doctor?"  most 
sweetly;  "you  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry." 

Like  most  retiring  scholars  of  a  kindly  nature,  the 
doctor  was  very  susceptible  to  the  attractions  of  a 
young  and  pretty  woman;  and  if  she  added  a  touch 
of  audacity  to  her  other  charms,  it  made  her  all  the 
more  irresistible.  He  smiled  appreciatively  as  he 
turned  to  her : 

"No,  Miss  Lydia;  but  Mrs.  Charlton  has  sent  me  to 
meet  a  young  and,  no  doubt,  charming  lady.  Don't 


AN  ARRIVAL  13 

you  think  it  is  proper  to  assume  an  air  of  eagerness 
and  haste  on  such  an  errand?" 

" Perfectly  proper,  doctor;  and  you  have  succeeded 
admirably — don't  you  think  so,  Lieutenant  "Watson?" 
with  a  little  propitiatory  smile  to  the  offended  officer, 
who  still  stood  in  an  attitude  of  grim  unbending. 

The  lieutenant  replied  only  by  a  stately  bow,  and 
the  train  drawing  in  to  the  station  opposite,  the 
doctor  turned  to  Rex  McAllister  and  said  gravely: 

"I  have  postponed  my  recitation  for  fifteen  minutes, 
Mr.  McAllister.  Your  furlough  will  be  extended  for 
that  time ;  at  the  end  of  which  Mr.  Paley  will  expect 
you  to  be  in  Evidence. ' ' 

McAllister  was  too  confused  to  see  the  little  twinkle 
in  the  tail  of  the  doctor's  eye,  and  he  had  a  South 
erner's  slowness  in  perceiving  anything  in  the  nature 
of  a  pun.  But  Miss  Lydia  laughed  a  quick  response, 
and  the  doctor,  who  dearly  loved  to  have  his  small 
jokes  appreciated,  beamed  on  her  graciously  as  he 
added : 

"Ah,  Mr.  McAllister,  you  will  have  to  beware  of 
the  sirens.  I  would  recommend  you,  if  you  are  walk 
ing  down  Main  Street  near  ten  oclock,  to  atya  laive  /o/pos 
€TT'  ovara  8*  aXci^e."  With  which  learned  quotation,  that 
McAllister  appreciated  and  Miss  Lydia  did  not,  the 
doctor  made  a  sweeping  bow  to  the  ladies  and  crossed 
over  to  the  train. 

"I  think  I  know  who  the  young  lady  is,"  said  Mc 
Allister;  "I  heard  Miss  Lucy  say  the  other  day  that 
they  were  to  have  a  new  teacher  for  St.  John 's  school. ' ' 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Mazie;  "I  know  all 


14  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

about  her.  She  is  from  Massachusetts— a  real  Yan 
kee  school-ma'am.  I  wonder  if  she  will  be  young  and 
pretty,  as  the  doctor  said?  Somehow  I  can't  fancy 
a  Yankee  school-ma'am  anything  but  an  ancient 
maiden  lady  with  spectacles  and  a  false  front." 

"You  will  have  an  opportunity  of  judging  for 
yourself,  Miss  Mazie,"  said  Rex;  "that  must  be  the 
young  lady  that  the  doctor  is  helping  off  the  car." 

"Why,  she  is  young!"  said  Miss  Lydia;  "and 
pretty,  too— at  least  from  this  distance." 

"Would  n't  you  call  her  a  little— ah— prim?"  ven 
tured  the  lieutenant,  hesitatingly.  The  others 
laughed,  for  the  adjective  did  seem  rather  appro 
priate  to  the  slim  figure  in  gray,  with  long,  light- 
brown  curls  falling  straight  beneath  a  close  little 
quakerish  bonnet,  which  was  about  as  much  as  they 
could  see  of  her. 

"What  will  you  give  me  if  I  walk  up  to  the  college 
with  her?"  said  Rex  McAllister,  looking  sharply  at 
the  little  figure,  and  deciding  at  once  that  she  was 
pretty  enough  to  make  an  effort  at  acquaintance 
worth  while. 

"Mr.  McAllister!"  exclaimed  all  the  girls  together; 
while  Miss  Lydia  added,  "You  don't  dare!  One 
glance  of  lightning  from  the  doctor's  blue  eyes  would 
annihilate  you." 

"Oh,  of  course,  if  I  did  it  impertinently.  But  I 
shall  wait  until  they  are  half-way  up  the  block,  and 
then,  as  I  pass  them  on  my  way  to  college,  I  shall 
stop  and  ask  the  doctor,  most  deferentially,  if  I  can 
not  relieve  him  of  that  heavy  bag  he  is  carrying.  Of 


AN  ARRIVAL  15 

course  he  will  introduce  me,  and  we  will  all  three 
walk  up  together,  as  cozy  as  old  acquaintances." 

"Well,  you  could  do  it,  if  any  one  could,"  returned 
Miss  Lydia;  "but  I  hope  the  doctor  will  see  through 
your  little  game,  and  give  you  an  awful  settler.  And 
if  he  does,  I  would  give  a  fippenny  bit  to  be  there  and 
see." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Lydia,  you  are  always  kind! 
Here  they  come!  She  is  pretty,  is  n't  she?" 

Unconsciously  they  all  fell  into  a  silent  survey  of 
the  little  figure  passing  them  with  downcast  eyes,  be 
traying  by  her  constrained  walk  and  fluctuating  color 
her  consciousness  of  their  scrutiny.  The  doctor  was 
talking  in  his  pleasant  fashion,  trying  to  put  her  at 
her  ease,  and  only  noticed  the  little  party  on  the  steps 
by  including  them  absent-mindedly  in  a  sweeping 
wave  of  his  hat.  When  they  were  well  out  of  ear 
shot,  McAllister  broke  out: 

' '  Ye  gods !  what  a  complexion !  roses  and  milk ! ' ' 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  tartly;  "she  has  a 
very  good  skin,  but  it  does  not  compare  with  Miss 
Lucy  Charlton's.  That  's  genuine  roses  and  milk." 

"And  she  has  such  a  prim,  school-ma 'amish  air," 
added  Miss  Marcia;  "I  should  have  known  she  was 
from  New  England  from  her  walk  and  the  cut  of  her 
frock." 

"Did  you  notice  her  hair,  girls?"  said  Miss  Mazie, 
contributing  her  quota  to  the  round  robin  of  criticism 
from  the  vestibule  step.  "It  's  drab;  matches  her 
funny  little  bonnet  exactly." 

"I  am  not  sure  but  that  she  would  look  very  well," 


16  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

said  Miss  Sallie,  judicially,  "if  she  were  only  styl 
ishly  dressed.  A  broad  hat  now,  with  a  deep  fall  of 
lace  around  it,  instead  of  that  queer  old-fashioned 
bonnet,  and  a  black  silk  mantilla  with  heavy  fringe 
in  place  of  that  little  gray  cape,  would  give  her  quite 
a  different  air. ' ' 

Out  of  regard  to  the  men  present,  none  of  them 
quite  dared  to  say  that  it  was  the  skirt  falling  in 
straight,  scanty  folds  to  the  feet,  without  the  sign 
of  a  hoop,  that  gave  her  a  hopelessly  outlandish  look 
in  the  eyes  of  these  country  belles.  But  they  could 
not  refrain  from  preening  their  own  flowing  robes 
over  their  well-caned  petticoats  with  a  conscious  air 
that  clearly  indicated  to  the  masculine  intellects  pres 
ent  where  the  trouble  lay.  Rex  made  a  low  obeisance : 

"I  bow  to  the  superior  judgment  of  the  ladies.  She 
is  a  fright,  doubtless.  It  was  preposterous  in  me  to 
form  an  opinion  on  her  complexion  or  any  other  of 
her  charms  before  I  had  heard  your  decisions.  But 
now,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  obey  the  doctor's 
behest  and  hie  me  collegeward.  Miss  Lydia,  I  beg 
you  will  watch  me  well,  and  see  how  boldly  I  dare 
tackle  this  female  griffin.  Ladies,  good  morning  and 
au  revoirl" 

The  doctor  and  his  convoy  were  now  more  than  half 
way  up  the  block,  and  it  took  some  tall  striding  on 
the  part  of  McAllister's  long  legs  to  overtake  them 
before  they  should  reach  the  "Iron  Gate"  corner. 
It  was  under  the  Washington  elm,  with  its  hollow, 
rapidly  decaying  trunk,  and  its  wide-spreading 
branches  overshadowing  the  low  log-cabin,  whose  en- 


AN  ARRIVAL  17 

trance,  sunk  a  foot  below  the  pavement  level,  was  a 
guarantee  of  its  antiquity  and  a  sure  proof  to  us 
young  people  that  it  had  once  Been,  as  tradition  said, 
Washington's  headquarters  in  the  Indian  wars  be 
fore  the  Revolution — it  was  on  that  sacred  spot  that 
Rex  overtook  them  and  put  into  execution  his  shame 
less  little  plot. 

On  the  steps  of  the  Burton  mansion  the  girls  were 
craning  their  necks  to  witness  his  expected  discom 
fiture.  To  their  utter  amazement,  they  saw  Dr.  Gharl- 
ton  stop  as  McAllister  addressed  him,  put  the  bag 
into  his  hand,  apparently  utter  a  few  hasty  words 
of  introduction,  then  turn  and  come  flying  down  the 
street  again,  while  Rex,  without  turning  his  head, 
gently  fluttered  his  cambric  handkerchief  over  his  left 
shoulder  as  a  signal  to  the  watchers  on  the  steps  of  his 
triumph,  and  bent  his  head  to  the  little  lady  on  his 
right  with  that  air  of  mingled  gallantry  and  deference 
he  knew  so  well  how  to  assume. 


CHAPTER  II 

EUNICE  HARLOWE 

EUNICE  HARLOWE  had  left  her  home  in  a  fac 
tory  village  of  Massachusetts  the  day  before. 
Her  father,  a  country  minister  with  a  small  salary 
and  a  large  family,  had  committed  an  unnecessary 
extravagance,  her  thrifty  mother  thought,  when  he 
accompanied  Eunice  to  New  York  and  saw  her  safely 
across  the  ferry  and  on  board  a  night  train  for 
Henrysburg. 

To  Eunice  and  her  father  this  home-leaving  was  a 
great  event.  She  had  been  carefully  educated  in 
Mount  Holyoke  Seminary  with  the  idea  that  she  was 
to  teach,  thereby  not  only  paying  her  own  way,  but 
helping  in  the  education  of  her  three  younger  sisters. 
But  it  had  not  entered  into  the  father's  calculations 
or  her  own  that  she  should  go  so  far  from  home.  The 
advertisement  in  a  church  paper  for  a  teacher  of  the 
children  of  the  professors  of  Tomlinson,  and  a  home 
offered  with  the  family  of  the  president  of  the  college, 
had  read  very  enticingly,  except  that  Bellaire  seemed 
very  far  south,  and  southern  Pennsylvania  almost  a 
land  of  barbarians,  to  their  New  England  prejudices. 
But  they  decided  finally  to  answer  the  advertisement, 

18 


EUNICE  HARLOWE  19 

and  they  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  pleased  or  sorry 
when  by  return  mail  their  application  was  accepted. 

Pullman  sleepers  were  almost  or  entirely  unknown 
then,  and  even  had  there  been  one  on  the  Henrysburg 
train,  Eunice  would  never  have  thought  of  spending 
two  or  three  dollars  merely  to  make  herself  more  com 
fortable  for  a  few  hours.  She  sat  bolt  upright  in 
the  low-backed  seat,  with  her  bag  and  handbox  be 
side  her;  and  at  intervals  rested  her  tired  head  on 
the  side  of  the  car  and  gained  a  few  moments  of  un 
consciousness,  until  the  strained  muscles  of  her  neck 
aroused  her  to  the  painful  conviction  that  there  was 
not  much  rest  to  be  had  from  such  sleep. 

It  was  in  the  gray  dawn  of  the  September  morning 
that  the  train  drew  into  the  station  of  the  "Pennsyl 
vania  Central"  road  at  Henrysburg,  and  gathering 
up  her  hand-baggage,  she  stepped  from  the  car  into 
a  bedlam  of  shrieking  locomotives,  shouting  men,  and 
moving  trains,  very  bewildering  to  her  quiet  country 
experience.  She  stood  a  moment  trying  to  decide  what 
to  do,  and  a  kindly  official,  noticing  her  dazed  look, 
asked  her  where  she  wanted  to  go,  and  directed  her 
across  a  wide  space  of  interlacing  tracks  to  the  North 
ern  Central  station,  from  which  the  Northumberland 
Valley  train  started ;  and  promised  also  to  see  that  her 
baggage  was  safely  transferred. 

It  would  be  long  before  the  Bellaire  train  started, 
but  she  was  not  sorry.  There  were  the  ravages  of  the 
night  to  be  repaired,  for  she  was  nervously  anxious  to 
make  as  good  an  impression  as  possible  on  her  arrival, 
and  she  was  shocked  at  the  pale  and  grimy  face  that 


20  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

looked  back  at  her  from  the  little  glass  in  the  stuffy 
toilet-room.  She  did  the  best  she  could  in  the  way  of 
ablutions,  and  then  taking  a  curling-stick  from  her 
bag,  carefully  brushed  over  it  each  long,  light  curl,  and 
put  back  the  neat  little  bonnet,  from  which  she  had 
scrupulously  removed  every  atom  of  dust.  By  that 
time  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  she  was  glad  to  escape 
from  the  close  and  crowded  waiting-room  into  the 
sweet,  morning  air.  She  found  a  seat  in  a  little  park 
on  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  river,  and  watched  the 
rocky  banks  opposite,  along  which  trains  were  con 
stantly  thundering,  diving  out  of  sight  behind  wooded 
cliffs,  and  reappearing  before  she  could  possibly  ex 
pect  them.  Just  below,  two  long  bridges  crossed  the 
river:  one  a  covered  wagon-bridge,  reminding  her 
vividly  of  the  old  Connecticut  River  bridge  at  Had- 
ley,  which  she  had  often  crossed  going  to  and  from 
Mount  Holyoke  in  her  father 's  carryall,  and  the  other 
the  new  railroad  bridge,  across  which  was  creeping 
one  of  the  very  trains  she  had  been  watching  play  hide 
and  seek  on  the  opposite  bank. 

She  was  only  idly  watching  it  all,  for  she  was  very 
tired  and  her  thoughts  were  taken  up  with  the  dear 
home  circle  she  had  left  and  the  new  home  she  was 
approaching.  In  spite  of  the  sorrow  of  going  so  far 
away,  leaving  the  mother  she  loved,  the  father  she 
idolized,  and  the  dear  sisters,  she  had  permitted  her 
self  some  rosy  visions  of  the  future.  She  was  only 
nineteen,  and  her  life  in  the  factory  village  had  shut 
her  out  almost  entirely  from  young  society  and  ab 
solutely  from  association  with  young  men  of  her  own 


EUNICE  HARLOWE  21 

class.  The  fact  that  she  was  going  now  to  live  in 
the  family  of  the  president  of  a  college  for  young 
men,  where  she  would  certainly  meet  them  often, — 
perhaps  every  day,  for  aught  she  knew,— was  nearly 
incomprehensible  in  the  light  of  her  previous  expe 
rience,  and  sent  her  pulses  bounding  a  little  faster — 
staid  New  England  pulses  though  they  were. 

Now  that  the  journey  was  nearly  over,  her  dreams 
were  losing  their  rosy  tint.  A  sickening  dread  of 
her  new  life  and  the  strangers  she  must  meet  was 
taking  possession  of  her.  Would  the  president  prove 
to  be  an  austere  man,  and  life  in  his  home  be  cold  and 
formal?  She  had  always  had  an  unconfessed  feeling 
that  New  England  stood  for  all  the  culture  of  the 
country;  would  the  Bellaire  people  be  vulgar  and 
commonplace  and  more  disagreeable,  perhaps,  than 
factory  people?  Her  courage  was  fast  ebbing,  and 
her  heart  turning  longingly  homeward,  when  it  oc 
curred  to  her  to  consult  the  tiny  watch,  her  father's 
parting  gift.  To  her  consternation,  she  found  that 
she  would  have  to  hasten  to  catch  the  train.  Fortu 
nately  her  bandbox  and  her  bag  were  beside  her,— 
she  would  not  have  to  stop  to  hunt  them  up, — and  her 
trunk  was  checked ;  and  so  she  found  a  seat  in  one  of 
the  queer  little  yellow  cars  of  the  Northumberland 
Valley  Railroad,  breathless,  but  with  two  minutes 
to  spare. 

As  soon  as  she  had  recovered  her  breath,  she  pro 
ceeded  to  take  from  her  bag  a  green  barege  veil, 
which  she  very  carefully  tied  over  her  bonnet,  and 
a  linen  raglan,  which  she  wrapped  around  her,  know- 


22  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

ing  there  would  be  no  chance  again  to  get  rid  of  the 
dust  and  make  herself  neat  before  reaching  Bellaire, 
and  particularly  dreading  the  heavy  volumes  of  black 
smoke  from  the  soft  coal,  which  made  the  engines  so 
much  more  formidable  than  the  wood-consuming  loco 
motives  of  her  own  country.  But  she  did  not  cover 
her  face  with  the  veil.  The  day  was  too  stifling,  now 
that  the  sun  was  well  up  and  fairly  at  work;  and 
also,  she  wanted  to  take  in  all  the  views.  She  in 
tended  to  become  thoroughly  acquainted  with  this 
new  country  she  was  entering.  The  narrow,  closely 
built  street  through  which  the  railroad  passed,  lined 
with  squalid  tenements,  from  whose  roofs  and  porches 
fluttered  grimy  and  tattered  "washings"  (much  to 
Eunice's  amazement,  for  it  was  not  Monday),  and  on 
whose  narrow  sidewalks,  and  almost  on  the  track  it 
self,  swarmed  scores  of  unkempt  children,  did  not 
please  her,  though  she  was  interested  in  what  was  here 
tofore  an  unimagined  phase  of  life.  But  they  soon 
glided  out  of  the  close,  unpleasant  street  upon  the 
long  bridge,  and  a  breath  of  cool,  soft  river  air  filled 
the  car,  and  dispelled  every  lurking  odor  of  the  un 
savory  city. 

They  were  a  long  time  crossing  the  river,  which  was 
here  broad  and  beautiful,  with  low,  wooded  islands 
resting  on  its  bosom,  and  vistas  of  lofty  mountains 
opening  on  the  right  and  left  to  let  its  blue  waters 
through ;  but  once  fairly  across,  they  were  soon  speed 
ing  up  the  valley. 

Eunice  had  made  the  trip  through  the  rich  farm 
lands  of  eastern  Pennsylvania  by  night.  The  coun- 


EUNICE  HARLOWE  23 

try  about  her  home,  while  picturesque,  was  bleak  and 
the  land  comparatively  sterile,  and  it  was  a  revelation 
to  her  to  see  rolling  meadows  dotted  with  stately  trees ; 
broad  fields  black  with  the  richness  of  the  loam  or 
golden  with  the  banners  of  the  ripening  corn;  com 
fortable  farm-houses  overshadowed  by  palatial  barns, 
whose  enormous  proportions  were  yet  too  small  to 
hold  the  generous  harvests  of  hay  and  grain  that 
seemed  to  be  bursting  through  every  window  and  door ; 
huge  droves  of  well-fed  cattle,  and  the  score  of  lazy 
farm-horses  that  every  farmer  evidently  considered 
necessary  to  his  work;  and  all  this  abundance,  this 
land  of  plenty  and  ease,  hemmed  in  by  two  parallel 
lines  of  mountains  forming  a  blue  barrier  seven  miles 
away  to  the  northwest  and  the  southeast. 

Her  life  heretofore  had  been  cold  and  gray.  She 
had  known  something  of  the  pinching  of  poverty, 
and  much  of  the  hard  economies,  the  ceaseless  in 
dustries  and  rigid  formalism,  of  life  among  the  bleak 
hills  of  New  England.  She  began  to  feel  as  if  the 
blue  and  gold  of  this  beautiful  valley  were  already 
changing  the  color  of  her  existence.  There  was  a 
stirring  within  her  as  of  the  petals  of  unsuspected 
blossoms  of  life  unfolding  to  the  sunshine;  and  then 
her  stern  New  England  conscience  took  her  to  task 
for  indulging  in  such  soft  dreams.  What  was  to  be 
come  of  her  high  ideals  and  lofty  ambitions  if  she 
yielded  to  these  vague  yearnings  after  a  life  of  sen 
suous  ease? 

They  were  entering  Bellaire  now,  and  she  took  off 
her  raglan  and  veil,  folded  them  away  in  her  bag, 

3 


24  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

and  sat  rigidly  erect  as  if  she  were  already  under  in 
spection,  but  her  quiet  glance  taking  in  every  detail 
of  the  strange  streets.  It  was  not  at  all  like  any 
of  the  New  England  towns  she  knew  best.  In  her  own 
mind  she  decided  it  was  rather  an  ugly  village,  cer 
tainly  not  to  be  compared  with  Northampton,  her 
ideal  of  the  beautiful  and  picturesque.  Neverthe 
less  there  was  something  so  gay  and  bright  in  the 
aspect  of  door-steps  crowded  with  pretty  girls  dressed 
in  sheer  muslins,— a  kind  of  dress  worn  only  occa 
sionally  in  the  cool  New  England  summer,  and  re 
served  then  for  state  occasions,— their  pretty  heads 
guiltless  of  hat  or  bonnet,  which  seemed  a  little  scan 
dalous  to  her  sense  of  propriety;  and  the  groups  of 
men  talking  to  them  was  such  a  novel  sight,  that  she 
was  inclined  to  be  pleased  with  her  first  introduction 
to  her  new  home. 

The  train  moved  very  slowly  through  the  street, 
ringing  its  bell  as  it  went,  and  she  had  time  to  take 
it  all  in  before  she  realized  that  they  had  stopped. 
With  a  quick  beating  of  her  heart,  she  gathered  up 
her  bag  and  handbox  and  followed  the  stream  of 
passengers,  wondering  who  would  meet  her,  or  what 
she  should  do  if  no  one  should  come.  But  as  she  was 
stepping  from  the  train  a  hand  reached  up  to  help 
her,  and  the  pleasantest  voice  in  the  world  said : 

"This  is  Miss  Harlowe,  I  am  sure." 

The  doctor  knew  there  was  no  possibility  of  mistak 
ing  that  quiet  little  figure  with  the  calm  gray  eyes; 
it  could  belong  to  no  other  than  a  genuine  Puritan 
maiden. 


EUNICE  HARLOWE  25 

Eunice,  on  her  part,  felt  all  her  fears  vanish  at  the 
sight  of  the  benignant  face  with  its  clear-cut,  classic 
features  and  mild  eyes  smiling  on  her  so  kindly.  She 
relinquished  her  bag  to  him;  but  when  he  would 
have  taken  her  bandbox  also,  she  insisted  that  it  was 
very  light,  and  that  she  preferred  carrying  it  herself. 
She  alighted  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  with  no 
visible  station-house  near;  and  she  would  have  been 
very  much  bewildered  if  she  had  been  alone,  for  she 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  dense,  surging  crowd,  more 
than  half  of  them,  it  seemed  to  her,  colored  people, 
and  a  large  proportion  of  these  half-grown  boys,  who 
surrounded  her,  vociferating: 

"Want  yer  baggage  tuk,  miss?"  or,  respectfully 
saluting  Dr.  Charlton,  "I  '11  take  yer  trunk  cheap, 
doctor. ' '  To  all  their  appeals  the  doctor  merely  shook 
his  head,  and  dexterously  guiding  Eunice  to  the  edge 
of  the  crowd,  they  found  themselves  in  front  of  a  bow 
ing  and  smiling  yellow  man  mounting  guard  over  a 
wheel-barrow,  to  whom  the  doctor  gave  the  check. 

"Permit  me  to  introduce  'Judge  Watts'  to  you,  Miss 
Harlowe,"  said  the  doctor,  gravely.  "I  trust  you 
will  find  him  a  very  valuable  friend  while  you  stay 
with  us." 

The  delighted  "judge"  bowed,  and  scraped  and 
grinned  more  energetically  than  before,  but  Eunice 
was  puzzled.  She  was  not  used  to  negroes,  and  in 
fact  was  much  afraid  of  them,  and  she  could  not  un 
derstand  the  anomaly  of  a  colored  "judge"  carrying 
her  baggage  on  a  wheel-barrow,  nor  could  she  conceive 
of  a  venerable  president  of  a  college  indulging  in 


26  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

a  small  joke,  so  she  merely  bowed  a  stiff  acknowledg 
ment.  Dr.  Charlton  saw  her  bewilderment  and,  as 
they  turned  to  walk  up  the  street,  explained  that 
"Judge"  was  the  janitor  of  West  College,  and  hap 
pening  to  have  the  same  surname  as  a  distinguished 
judge  of  the  town,  the  students  had  dubbed  him  with 
this  title,  of  which  he  was  immensely  vain.  The  doc 
tor  was  in  the  midst  of  his  explanation  when  they 
passed  the  Burton  steps,  and  although  Eunice's  long 
lashes  were  sweeping  her  cheek,  she  had  distinctly 
seen  the  group  of  gaily  dressed  girls;  the  handsome 
young  officer  with  difficulty  checking  his  fiery  steed, 
now  that  the  engine  was  so  near;  and  particularly 
was  she  conscious  of  the  admiring  gaze  directed  full 
upon  her  from  a  pair  of  bold  black  eyes  belonging 
to  a  figure  more  elegant  than  any  that  she  had  yet 
known. 

There  was  something  confusing  about  that  gaze, 
even  after  they  had  passed,  and  she  found  it  diffi 
cult  to  keep  her  attention  sufficiently  fastened  on 
what  Dr.  Charlton  was  saying  to  make  suitable  re 
sponses  to  his  kind  inquiries  about  her  journey,  and 
genial  comments  about  the  houses  and  people  they 
passed. 

They  were  almost  at  the  end  of  the  long  block, 
and  the  doctor  had  just  called  her  attention  to  the 
Iron  Gate  and  the  stone  wall  surmounted  by  a  black 
railing  inclosing  the  college  grounds,  one  corner  of 
which  was  becoming  visible,  when  he  suddenly 
stopped  with  a  sharp  exclamation  and  clapped  his 
hand  to  his  inner  pocket.  Eunice  had  had  no  time 


EUNICE   HARLOWE  27 

to  inquire  into  the  cause  of  his  discomfiture  or  express 
her  sympathy  with  it,  when  there  appeared  at  the 
doctor's  elbow  the  very  subject,  not  of  her  thoughts, 
but  of  her  persistent  agitations.  With  the  most  def 
erential  air,  he  bowed  low  to  Dr.  Charlton  and  said : 

"Permit  me,  doctor,  to  relieve  you  of  that  heavy 
bag ;  I  can  drop  it  at  the  house  for  you. ' ' 

"Ah,  Mr.  McAllister!  Yes,  yes,  I  think  you  may," 
said  the  doctor,  beginning  absent-mindedly,  but  with 
a  gradually  clearing  visage.  "In  fact,  Miss  Harlowe, 
if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  introduce  Mr.  McAllister, 
and  ask  you  to  permit  him  to  see  you  to  the  house. 
I  find  I  have  forgotten  an  important  commission  of 
Mrs.  Charlton 's." 

The  down-train  to  Henrysburg  had  passed  them  a 
few  minutes  before,  and  the  doctor  turned  with  visible 
anxiety  to  see  if  it  was  still  at  the  station.  Rex 
murmured  his  pleasure  at  the  commission,  and  there 
was  nothing  for  Eunice  to  do  but  signify  her  assent 
and  release  the  doctor  as  quickly  as  possible,  although 
she  was  aware  of  an  intolerable  color  flaming  in  her 
usually  delicately  tinted  cheeks. 

It  was  then  that  the  cambric  handkerchief  fluttered 
over  McAllister's  left  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOME-COMING 

MCALLISTER  turned  to  Eunice  with  the  air 
of  expressing  the  deepest  devotion  as  he  said : 

"Permit  me,  Miss  Harlowe,  to  relieve  you  of  your 
bandbox."  He  was  grateful  to  her  for  refusing.  He 
had  considered  it  imperative  to  ask  her,  but  to  the 
fastidious  fellow,  who  never  carried  the  smallest  pack 
age  on  the  streets,  it  was  sufficiently  heroic  to  be  carry 
ing  her  heavy  bag ;  he  felt  he  never  could  have  stood 
the  guying  of  his  fellow-students  if  any  of  them  had 
happened  to  meet  him  carrying  both  bag  and  band 
box. 

They  were  at  the  Iron  Gate,  and  a  choice  of  two 
ways  lay  before  them.  They  could  turn  and  walk 
up  the  long  pavement,  partly  shaded  from  the  broil 
ing  sun  by  the  elms  overhanging  the  campus  wall, 
or  they  could  enter  the  Iron  Gate,  and  follow  a  little 
path  running  parallel  with  the  pavement  under  arch 
ing  trees  whose  heavy  foliage  excluded  every  un 
welcome  ray  of  sunshine.  Rex  recommended  the 
latter,  and  as  the  heavy  gate  swung  behind  them— 
a  sound  destined  to  become  very  familiar  to  her  ears- 
Eunice  uttered  a  little  exclamation  of  delight.  They 

28 


HOME-COMING  29 

had  left  the  hot  glare  of  brick  and  mortar  behind 
them.  A  soft,  fragrant  tan-bark  walk  was  beneath 
their  feet,  a  wide  expanse  of  vivid  green  turf  dotted 
with  cool  groves  and  cut  by  avenues  shaded  with 
stately  trees  was  before  them,  and  the  light  fell  so 
softly  through  the  high,  leafy  arches  over  the  little 
path  into  which  they  had  turned,  she  could  think 
only  of  dim  cathedral  aisles.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if 
her  lines  had  fallen  in  pleasant  places,  and  she  was 
always  hereafter  to  be  walking  through  beautiful 
dusky  groves  with  soft  zephyrs  playing  about  her 
and  a  stately  cavalier  at  her  side.  She  found  her 
self  listening  in  a  kind  of  dreamlike  reverie  to  Mc 
Allister,  who  was  saying : 

"They  call  this  path  'Lovers'  Lane,'  Miss  Harlowe, 
because  it  is  so  secluded,  I  suppose.  Don't  you  think 
our  Bellaire  lovers  are  rather  lucky  to  have  such 
a  perfect  spot  in  which  to  breathe  their  vows?" 

His  words  embarrassed  her.  Who  had  ever  before 
spoken  to  her  of  "lovers'  vows"?  Yet  mingling  with 
her  embarrassment  was  a  swift,  vague,  and  tremulous 
premonition  that  she  might,  some  day,  be  listening 
to  them  there  herself. 

Eex  McAllister  wondered  to  see  the  bright  color 
flame  up  in  her  cheeks  again.  He  had  not  found  the 
"Yankee  schoolma'am"  very  brilliant  as  a  conversa 
tionalist;  but  there  was  something  fascinating  in 
watching  the  play  of  color  in  the  cheek  half -turned 
from  him,  and  in  compelling  an  occasional  timid 
glance  from  the  large  gray  eyes.  He  was  a  man  who 
enjoyed  making  an  impression,  and  he  felt  he  was 


30  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

doing  that  now ;  and  as  for  the  rest,  he  had  sufficient 
confidence  in  his  conversational  powers  to  be  quite 
willing  to  bear  the  burden  of  the  talk.  He  was  not 
sure,  upon  the  whole,  that  he  did  not  prefer  a  quiet 
woman,  even  if  she  were  a  little  "stiff,"  to  Miss 
Lydia's  loud-voiced  ways.  He  was  very  well  satis 
fied  with  his  companion,  therefore,  when  he  had  con 
ducted  her  through  the  litle  gate  that  led  into  the 
president's  private  grounds,  and  along  the  winding 
path  to  the  house,  and  up  the  high  steps  to  the 
piazza,  where  Mrs.  Charlton  and  Lucy,  with  all  the 
younger  children  in  a  timid  group  behind  them,  were 
waiting  to  receive  her.  It  was  a  trying  ordeal  to 
Eunice,  but  she  was  able  to  veil  all  timidity  and  agi 
tation  under  her  calm  Northern  manner.  And  Mrs. 
Charlton,  who  greeted  her  warmly  with  a  kind  kiss, 
for  which  Eunice  was  so  totally  unprepared  as  to  be 
unable  to  respond  to  it  in  time,  thought  her  a  typical 
New  Englander,  very  self-possessed  certainly,  but 
almost  too  cold. 

She  had  no  idea  how  her  motherly  greeting  had 
touched  Eunice's  heart.  Her  own  mother  seldom 
kissed  her,  and  Eunice  hardly  knew  how  to  perform 
the  affectionate  ceremony  properly.  But  as  Mrs. 
Charlton  presented  her  to  her  daughter  Lucy,  she 
determined  to  do  her  best,  and  met  Lucy's  shy  but 
friendly  greeting  with  the  voluntary  proffer  of  a  kiss 
— and  was  immediately  sure  she  had  done  the  wrong 
thing  again,  and  Lucy  had  not  expected  it.  While 
Lucy  was  presenting  her  to  her  brothers  and  little 
sister,  Mrs.  Charlton  was  saying  to  Rex : 


HOME-COMING  31 

"But  where  is  Mr.  Charlton?  How  do  you  happen 
to  be  bringing  Miss  Harlowe  to  us  ? " 

And  when  Rex  explained  that  he  had  met  them  on 
the  street,  and  the  doctor  had  said  that  he  had  for 
gotten  to  execute  a  commission  for  Mrs.  Charlton,  and 
had  asked  him  to  bring  Miss  Harlowe  to  the  house,  she 
exclaimed : 

"My  letter!  Of  course  he  forgot  it!  but  what  a 
shame  he  should  have  gone  back  for  it !  I  asked  him 
to  mail  it  on  the  train,  because  I  thought  it  would 
be  no  trouble  for  him,  and  it  would  reach  its  destina 
tion  sooner.  But  it  was  not  of  the  slightest  impor 
tance;  it  is  really  too  bad  he  should  have  gone  back 
for  it." 

And  then  Eunice  heard  McAllister  saying,  "I  am 
sorry  for  the  doctor,  but  his  misfortune  was  my  op 
portunity  ;  it  was  a  very  great  pleasure  to  make  Miss 
Harlowe 's  acquaintance  so  agreeably." 

She  knew,  of  course,  the  words  meant  nothing,  but 
she  was  so  unused  to  anything  of  the  kind  she  could 
not  help  the  stir  of  her  pulses  as  she  heard  them. 
And  then  Mrs.  Charlton  shook  her  head  at  McAllister 
with  an  arch  smile,  as  much  as  to  say : 

"Oh,  you  rogue!  I  know  you.  But  you  must  be 
ware;  I  will  have  no  poaching  on  my  preserves." 

It  was  that  ready  sympathy  of  comprehension  that 
made  the  doctor's  wife  such  a  great  favorite  with  all 
the  young  people,  and  particularly  were  the  students 
of  the  college  her  stanch  admirers.  She  had  been  a 
Southern  beauty  when  she  fell  in  love  with  the  North 
ern  scholar  and  married  him,  and  she  had  kept  some 


32  IN  OLD  BELLAIEE 

of  the  pretty  imperious  ways  natural  to  Southern 
women.  The  doctor  adored  her,  and  she  venerated 
and  idolized  him;  but  it  was  perhaps  due  to  that 
pretty  imperiousness  that  he  would  not  for  the  world 
have  failed  to  execute  her  smallest  commission,  and 
was  as  much  under  love's  tyranny  as  in  the  days  of 
his  courtship. 

Just  then  the  doctor  himself  came  through  the 
big  gate  that  led  out  to  the  street,  and  McAllister, 
catching  sight  of  him,  explained  that  he  was  due  at 
the  doctor's  lecture-room  and  took  a  hurried  leave; 
and  the  doctor,  coming  up  past  the  piazza  with  his 
long,  rapid  stride,  waved  his  hand  to  Eunice  and 
called  up:  "I  am  glad  to  see  you  have  arrived,  Miss 
Harlowe ;  I  will  see  you  at  dinner. ' '  And  then  to  his 
wife:  "Your  letter  is  all  right,  my  love"— an  old-fash 
ioned  way  he  had  of  addressing  her,  even  sometimes  in 
semi-public— and,  without  giving  any  one  a  chance  to 
reply  to  him,  passed  through  a  tiny  gate  placed  in  the 
high  cedar  hedge  that  separated  his  private  grounds 
from  the  campus. 

"And  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Charlton,  turning 
to  Eunice,  "you  must  come  right  in  and  have  some 
breakfast.  Did  you  tell  Alcinda  to  put  it  on,  Millie  ?" 
addressing  a  little  brown-haired  girl,  who  had  been 
gazing  in  round-eyed  admiration  at  Eunice  from  the 
moment  of  her  arrival. 

"No,  'm,  I  forgot;  but  I  will  now,"  and  the  child 
flew  down  the  long  hall  with  eager  feet  to  atone  for  her 
tardiness. 

Eunice  tried  to  tell  Mrs.  Charlton  that  she  did  not 


HOME-COMING  33 

need  breakfast,  but  Mrs.  Charlton  would  not  listen 
to  her. 

"Oh,  I  shall  only  give  you  a  bite:  it  is  too  near 
dinner-time  for  anything  more ;  but  you  will  feel  bet 
ter  for  eating  a  little,  and  after  you  have  had  your 
breakfast,  I  want  you  to  lie  down  until  dinner-time, 
and  sleep  if  possible.  I  shall  wake  you  up  for  dinner, 
for  Mr.  Charlton  would  feel  so  disappointed  not  to 
find  you  at  the  table,  and  it  will  be  better  for  you 
not  to  sleep  too  long ;  you  can  go  to  bed  early  to-night, 
you  know,  and  get  fully  rested." 

Eunice  had  supposed  she  was  not  hungry,  but  when 
she  found  herself  in  the  pleasant  dining-room  open 
ing  by  glass  doors  upon  a  side-porch  and  lawn,  and 
a  black  boy  of  about  fifteen  bringing  in  a  small  pot 
of  steaming  coffee  in  one  hand  and  in  the  other  a  tiny 
platter  with  a  beautiful  golden-brown  omelet  on  it, 
she  found  also  that  she  was  quite  ready  for  both. 

And  while  she  was  at  the  table  "Judge"  brought 
her  trunk,  carried  it  up-stairs  and  unstrapped  it,  and 
so  she  found  it  awaiting  her  when  she  went  back  to  her 
room.  Eunice,  who  was  swift  and  deft  in  all  her  move 
ments,  very  quickly  had  her  limited  number  of  dresses 
hanging  in  the  deep  closet,  her  morning-gown  with  its 
pretty  fixings  laid  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  the  dust 
shaken  and  brushed  from  her  traveling-dress,  and 
herself  arrayed  in  a  loose  dressing-gown.  She  looked 
around  the  big,  high-ceilinged  room,  with  its  old  ma 
hogany  furniture,  a  vase  of  scarlet  salvia  on  the  light- 
blue  cover  of  her  writing-table,  and  the  cool  white- 
muslin  curtains  at  the  windows  tied  back  with  blue 


34 

ribbons;  and  as  she  looked  she  sighed.  It  was  a  sigh 
of  full  content— it  was  all  so  fresh  and  dainty  and 
homelike. 

Outside  the  strident  droning  of  locusts  gave  the 
impression  of  simmering  heat.  Her  windows  opened 
to  the  south,  and  were  both  raised,  but  the  green  out 
side  shutters  were  bowed,  making  a  soft,  pleasant  light 
in  the  room,  and  allowing  only  cool  little  zephyrs  to 
wander  through  their  half-turned  slats.  Looking 
through  them,  she  saw  that  her  windows  were  further 
shaded  by  a  great  linden,  whose  branches  sometimes 
brushed  the  shutters  as  they  swayed  in  the  breeze  and 
gave  her  an  added  sense  of  coolness  as  she  looked  into 
their  green  depths.  She  lay  down  on  the  soft  white 
bed,  put  her  head  on  the  fragrant  linen  pillow-case, 
and  closed  her  tired  eyes  with  a  delicious  feeling  of 
languor  and  a  delightful  sense  of  being  "in  the  lap 
of  luxury,"  which  had  come  to  her  through  the  new 
experience  of  being  waited  upon  by  colored  servants. 
All  sordid  dish-washing  cares  and  kitchen  drudgeries 
seemed  now  to  her  as  things  of  a  remote  past,  and  she 
fell  asleep  with  a  little  sigh  upon  her  lips  for  her  own 
dear,  hard-working  mother,  for  whom  there  was  no 
such  luxurious  emancipation  possible. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   PATRONEE   PARTY 

MRS.  CHARLTON  would  have  been  very  much 
surprised  had  she  known  that  Eunice  regarded 
her  simple  housekeeping  as  luxurious,  for  she  rather 
prided  herself  upon  her  economy,  since  the  doctor's 
modest  salary  required  much  management  to  make 
it  supply  the  exigencies  of  a  large  family  and  a  digni 
fied  social  position. 

Accustomed  in  her  youth  to  a  retinue  of  house- 
servants,  she  had  thought  it  impossible  at  first  to  get 
along  with  the  two  good  "girls"  that  were  all  most 
Bellaire  housekeepers  considered  necessary  to  carry 
on  the  work  of  a  house.  But  she  had  learned  rapidly, 
and  had  a  year  or  two  before  consummated  an  ar 
rangement  by  which,  she  prided  herself,  she  had 
still  further  reduced  her  domestic  expenses.  She  had 
taken  into  her  employ  a  colored  woman  with  a  four 
teen-year-old  son  and  a  little  girl;  and  in  considera 
tion  of  getting  a  comfortable  home  for  her  family,  Al- 
cinda  was  willing  to  take  smaller  wages  even  than  the 
very  modest  sum  paid  for  a  cook  in  those  days.  It 
was  part  of  the  arrangement  that  her  son,  in  return 
for  his  board  and  clothing,  was  to  be  dining-room  boy 

35 


36  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

and  to  assist  in  the  rougher  part  of  the  up-stairs  work ; 
and  it  was  not  long  before  Charles  Cook,  junior,  had 
become  the  most  indispensable  member  of  the  house 
hold. 

He  had  never  been  named  by  any  shorter  title 
in  the  family  from  the  day  when  he  first  presented 
himself  in  the  dining-room  with  his  brown  face 
shining  from  a  liberal  application  of  soap  and  water, 
his  black  wool  laboriously  brushed  into  almost  the 
semblance  of  a  part,  his  black  eyes  dancing,  and 
showing  all  his  teeth  with  the  pleased  sense  of  impor 
tance  attached  to  the  immaculate  white  apron  he  was 
wearing,  and  the  shining  silver  salver  he  was  holding 
in  his  hand.  The  kindly  doctor,  wishing  to  show  his 
good-will  toward  this  new  member  of  his  family,  had 
asked  him  his  name,  and  at  his  prompt  response,  ac 
companied  with  a  respectful  duck,  "  Charles  Cook, 
junior,  sah,"  the  boys  had  shouted  with  delight, 
and  the  doctor  himself  had  set  the  fashion  of  per 
petuating  the  name  by  always  addressing  him  by  his 
full  title. 

Taking  the  new  teacher  to  board  in  exchange  for 
the  tuition  of  their  children  had  been  another  stroke 
of  economy  on  Mrs.  Charlton  's  part ;  and  although  the 
doctor  had  at  first  demurred  at  adding  to  their  already 
large  family  or  increasing  his  wife's  cares,  she  was  so 
childishly  pleased  with  her  thrifty  project  that  he  had 
to  yield  finally.  Now  she  was  saying  to  the  doctor, 
who  had  just  come  in  from  his  class-room  and  was 
waiting  for  the  dinner-bell  in  Mrs.  Charlton 's  large 
sunny  room: 


THE  PATRONEE  PARTY  37 

"I  am  so  glad  we  decided  to  take  her.  Is  n't  she 
charming?  I  know  I  shall  love  her." 

"Yes,  dear,  your  little  plans  always  turn  out  well," 
with  an  admiring  glance;  "she  is  a  perfect  type  of 
a  young  New  England  gentlewoman,  and  I  am  very 
glad  Lucy  is  to  have  her  for  companion  as  well  as 
teacher. ' ' 

"I  am  going  up-stairs  now  to  waken  her  for  din 
ner,"  said  Mrs.  Charlton;  "and  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  call  her  'Eunice.'  Would  you,  dear?"  looking 
wistfully  at  her  husband,  and  adding,  "She  must  be 
so  homesick  so  far  from  home  and  among  so  many 
strangers." 

"My  love,"  said  the  doctor,  earnestly,  taking  her 
hand  and  looking  into  her  shining  eyes  as  she  stood 
beside  him,  "do  exactly  as  your  heart  prompts  you. 
It  can  never  prompt  you  to  do  anything  but  what  is 
kindest  and  best." 

When  Eunice  heard  a  soft  voice  calling  her  name, 
and  thought,  too,  she  felt  a  light  kiss  on  her  fore 
head,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  lay  for  a  moment 
quite  still  and  bewildered.  Her  sleep  had  been  the 
heavy  sleep  of  exhaustion,  and  she  could  not  at  once 
collect  her  scattered  faculties.  She  almost  thought 
she  had  lost  her  identity  altogether,  awakening  so 
suddenly  in  that  strange  room  to  find  a  sweet  face 
framed  in  dark  glossy  curls  bending  over  her,  and  a 
pair  of  beautiful  brown  eyes  looking  lovingly  into 
hers. 

Gradually,  however,  the  mists  cleared  away,  she 


38  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

recognized  the  eyes  that  were  now  smiling  at  her  be 
wilderment,  and  sprang  quickly  up,  exclaiming: 

"Is  it  morning,  and  am  I  late?" 

"It  is  too  bad  to  arouse  you,"  said  Mrs.  Charlton, 
"when  you  were  sleeping  so  sweetly;  but  it  is  dinner 
time.  Don't  stop  to  do  anything,  but  bathe  your  face 
a  little,  put  on  that  pretty  gown  on  the  chair  that  I 
have  been  admiring,  and  come  down  and  see  Mr. 
Charlton.  He  is  very  impatient  to  make  your  ac 
quaintance  further.  Would  you  like  to  have  me  help 
you  with  your  fastenings?" 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Eunice,  quickly.  She  had  al 
ready  risen,  and  Mrs.  Charlton  was  pouring  some 
fresh  water  into  the  basin  for  her. 

"You  must  not  do  that  for  me,  Mrs.  Charlton,"  said 
Eunice,  greatly  disturbed  at  being  waited  upon  in  such 
fashion,  "  I  do  not  need  any  help,  and  I  will  be  down 
stairs  in  five  minutes. ' ' 

"Oh,  don't  hurry;  it  does  n't  matter  if  you  are 
late.  And,  my  dear,  I  want  to  ask  you  to  let  me  call 
you  Eunice.  I  think  it  will  make  you  feel  more  at 
home,  and  I  want  you  to  be  very  much  at  home  with 
us." 

Eunice  found  it  difficult  to  reply,  the  motherly  tone 
touched  her  so  deeply;  but  she  managed  to  stammer 
out  her  grateful  thanks. 

The  pretty  morning-gown  she  had  laid  ready  upon 
her  chair  was  one  that  she  and  her  mother  had  taken 
great  pride  in  making.  It  was  of  soft  gray  cashmere 
faced  with  quilted  blue  silk  and  falling  open  over  a 
fine  white  cambric  "front"  tucked  from  the  hem  to 


THE  PATRONEE  PARTY  39 

the  waist  with  tiny  tucks.  But  she  had  never  worn 
it,  and  she  found  the  getting  into  it  the  first  time  no 
easy  problem;  and  so  she  did  not  keep  quite  to  her 
five  minutes.  It  was  fully  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later, 
therefore,  when  Millie,  who  had  been  sent  to  conduct 
her  down-stairs,  opened  the  dining-room  door  and 
ushered  in  proudly  the  new  teacher.  The  doctor  was 
in  the  very  midst  of  "asking  the  blessing, "  and  Eu 
nice  had  to  stop  at  the  door  until  he  had  finished  and 
stood  with  dropped  lids,  while  four  pairs  of  curious 
eyes  took  sly  peeps  at  her  from  between  fingers  that 
were  supposed  to  be  reverently  covering  them.  Simul 
taneously  with  the  four  boyish  ' '  Amens, ' '  pronounced 
loudly  and  promptly,  the  four  heads  were  lifted,  and 
Eunice  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  their  undisguised 
admiration  as  she  passed  to  her  seat  beside  the  doctor 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  table.  She  was  too  conscious 
of  her  new  finery  not  to  find  it  a  trying  ordeal,  and 
the  color  was  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks  as  she 
took  her  place. 

The  doctor  had  taken  in  at  a  glance  the  pretty 
gown,  its  mingled  blue  and  gray  matching  the  tints 
of  the  large,  calm  eyes,  and  it  quite  satisfied  his  es 
thetic  sense.  So  did  the  face,  although  its  oval  was 
almost  too  long  for  a  perfect  line  of  Beauty,  and 
looked  still  longer  with  the  light  curls  drooping  on 
both  sides  of  it.  But  the  chin  was  well  molded,  and 
there  were  lines  of  firmness  about  the  mouth  that  he 
liked  as  betokening  the  strength  of  character  suitable 
to  her  vocation.  The  brow  was  white  and  open,  a 
little  inclined  perhaps  to  be  high  and  narrow,  but 


40  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

that  was  no  fault  in  those  days.  On  the  whole,  he 
was  very  much  pleased  with  the  personnel  of  the  new 
teacher.  He  thought  her  a  quaint  New  England  type, 
and  he  was  scientifically  fond  of  finding  new  types. 
He  decided  there  must  be  Quaker  blood  in  her  ances 
try,  and  he  could  easily  imagine  himself  addressing 
her  as  "Friend  Eunice,"  with  the  pretty  "thee"  and 
"thou."  Of  course  this  mental  inventory  took  but 
a  moment  of  time,  and  Eunice  had  only  begun  to  un 
fold  her  napkin  when  the  doctor  was  saying  to  her, 
gallantly : 

"You  have  won  the  boys'  hearts  already,  Miss  Har- 
lowe.  A  pretty  woman  in  pretty  clothes  completely 
subjugates  them." 

The  boys,  according  to  their  different  tempera 
ments,  smiled  a  gallant  response  to  their  father's 
speech,  or  looked  foolish ;  and  Mrs.  Charlton,  glancing 
saucily  at  her  husband,  said : 

"He  is  speaking  for  himself,  Miss  Harlowe.  You 
will  not  be  long  in  finding  out  that  the  boys  come  by 
their  weakness  honestly. ' ' 

And  then  the  good  doctor  rubbed  his  hands  de 
lightedly  at  being  found  out,  and  was  just  about  to 
make  another  gallant  rejoinder  when  he  discovered 
that  Eunice  did  not  quite  know  how  to  take  these 
pleasantries  and  was  becoming  embarrassed  for  a  re 
ply.  His  manner  changed  instantly,  and  he  was  the 
grave  but  kindly  host,  leading  the  table-talk  that  fol 
lowed  into  topics  of  general  interest.  Eunice  was  in 
cluded  in  it  all  just  enough  to  make  her  feel  not  so 
much  the  honored  guest  as  the  welcome  member  of 


41 

the  home  circle,  and  she  was  soon  quite  at  her  ease, 
and  taking  a  modest  share  in  the  conversation,  with 
great  good  sense  and  ready  appreciation,  the  doctor 
thought. 

"And  now,  Eunice,  we  must  tell  you  about  the  pa- 
tronee  party,"  said  Mrs.  Charlton  when  Charles  Cook, 
junior,  staggering  under  the  weight  of  an  enormous 
watermelon,  had  placed  it  before  the  doctor,  who  skil 
fully  dissected  a  bit  of  the  luscious  heart  and  laid 
it  before  Eunice.  Lucy  looked  up  in  surprise  to  hear 
her  mother  use  such  a  familiar  address  to  the  digni 
fied  stranger. 

"I  don't  believe,  mamma,"  she  said,  "that  Miss 
Harlowe  ever  heard  of  a  patronee  party ;"  and  Lucy's 
surmise  proving  correct,  Mrs.  Charlton  proceeded  to 
explain  it  in  full. 

I  do  not  know  whether  "patronee  parties"  were 
peculiar  to  Old  Tomlinson,  but  they  were  time-hon 
ored  institutions  there,  and  much  looked  forward  to 
by  the  belles  and  beaux.  It  was  a  requirement  of  the 
college  that  each  student,  at  his  entrance,  should  select 
one  of  the  faculty  as  his  "patron";  with  him  were 
deposited  the  student's  funds,  and  he  regulated  his 
expenditures.  And  back  somewhere  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  I  suspect,  had  arisen  the  custom  of  the  pa 
tron  giving  a  party  to  his  patronees,  to  which  an 
equal  number  of  young  ladies  was  invited.  I  have 
sometimes  fancied  that  there  was  a  friendly  rivalry 
among  the  professors  as  to  who  should  give  the  finest 
party  to  his  patronees,  and  that  new  students,  on  en 
tering  college,  were  advised  by  old  ones  as  to  which 


42  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

professor  made  the  best  patron  in  that  respect;  and 
the  bachelor  professors,  necessarily  disqualified  from 
entertaining,  had  a  rather  small  clientele. 

I  hardly  think  Mrs.  Charlton  gave  Eunice  quite  so 
full  an  explanation  as  this,  but  it  was  sufficient  to 
make  her  understand  the  name  at  least,  and  then  she 
added : 

"We  have  always  given  our  patronee  party  in  win 
ter,  but  it  is  a  much  more  troublesome  affair  then, 
with  hot  oysters  and  salads,  and  I  have  decided  to  try 
it  this  year  early  in  the  season.  It  will  be  full  moon 
to-morrow  night,  and  we  can  use  the  veranda  and 
garden;  and  it  is  so  warm  that  ices  and  simple  re 
freshments  will  be  very  acceptable.  But  our  principal 
reason  in  having  it  so  early  is  to  introduce  you  at  once 
to  the  young  people.  You  see,  I  am  thriftily  trying 
to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  giving  you  a  debut 
party  and  getting  through  with  the  patronee  party  at 
the  same  time." 

There  was  something  formidable  to  Eunice  in  the 
sound  of  the  word  "party."  She  could  not  remember 
that  she  had  ever  been  to  a  real  young  ladies'  party 
with  young  gentlemen  in  attendance,  and  it  was  with 
very  mingled  emotions  that  she  heard  of  the  approach 
ing  festivity.  She  was  not  quite  sure  that  she  would 
know  what  to  do,  and  she  wondered  vaguely  if  they 
would  play  games,  as  she  remembered  that  the  fac 
tory  girls  and  boys  did  at  the  church  sociables— and 
grew  so  loud  and  noisy  that  Eunice  shuddered  at  the 
remembrance.  Or  perhaps  they  danced!  And  min 
gled  with  her  very  severe  ideas  of  the  wickedness  of 


THE  PATRONEE  PARTY  43 

such  an  ungodly  pastime  was  a  latent  sense  of  the 
dreariness  she  would  experience  in  being  a  wall-flower. 

But  it  was  not  all  trepidation.  ' '  A  party ' '  sounded 
very  nice,  too;  and  she  was  sure  to  meet  Mr.  McAl 
lister,  and  she  found  that  pleasant  to  look  forward  to. 
And  then  she  had  her  graduating-dress  all  ready,  and 
she  was  quite  sure  nothing  could  be  nicer  or  more 
appropriate  for  a  party  than  that.  She  and  Lucy 
had  a  chance  to  get  very  well  acquainted  in  the  long, 
hot  afternoon  that  followed,  which  they  spent,  for  the 
sake  of  comfort,  in  the  cool  parlors;  and  she  was 
greatly  relieved  when  to  her  timid  inquiry  if  there 
would  be  dancing,  Lucy  replied  in  quite  a  shocked 
tone:  "Oh,  no!  of  course  not;  you  know  father  is  a 
clergyman";  and  then  added  reflectively:  "I  am  not 
sure  that  he  disapproves  of  dancing  very  much— or 
mother,  either.  We  dance  sometimes  in  the  evening 
by  ourselves ;  but  I  suppose  people  would  not  like  it  if 
they  thought  father  countenanced  it,  and  of  course 
it  would  not  do  to  have  dancing  at  a  party  in  our 
house. ' ' 

Eunice  was  so  much  relieved  to  find  that  she  was 
not  to  be  compelled  to  pass  through  that  trial  that 
she  was  half  tempted  to  confide  in  Lucy  the  fact  that 
she  did  not  know  what  they  did  at  parties,  or  how 
they  did  it ;  but  she  remembered  that  Lucy  was  to  be 
her  pupil,  and  that  there  must  be  a  certain  amount  of 
dignity  maintained  in  their  relations,  and  she  decided 
she  must  simply  watch  others  and  do  as  they  did. 

There  could  hardly  be  a  greater  contrast  than  Lucy 
and  Eunice  presented  when  they  were  both  dressed 


44  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

the  next  evening  and  awaiting  in  the  parlor  the  ar 
rival  of  the  first  guests.  They  stood  on  either  side  of 
Mrs.  Charlton,  who,  beautiful  at  all  times,  was  quite 
queenly  when  arrayed  for  a  state  occasion  in  sweeping 
robes  of  silk,  her  dress  opened  at  the  neck  to  show  a 
kerchief  of  finest  lace,  and  the  flowing  sleeves  display 
ing  undersleeves  of  the  same  costly  fabric.  Her  dark, 
glossy  hair,  falling  in  curls  about  her  face,  was  gath 
ered  into  a  high  knot  at  the  back  wTith  a  broad  shell- 
comb,  and  her  eyes  were  as  bright  and  her  cheeks  as 
rosy  as  any  girl 's  in  the  room.  She  was  a  splendid  foil 
to  the  two  girls,  both  fair,  but  of  such  different  types. 
Eunice,  with  her  Quaker-like  beauty,  looked  just  as  she 
ought  in  her  simple  muslin  dress  tucked  in  wide  tucks 
from  the  hem  to  the  waist,  and  with  a  blue  sash  confin 
ing  the  folds  of  the  "baby"  waist,  her  eyes  a  little 
brighter  than  usual,  the  tint  on  her  cheeks  a  little 
deeper,  and  her  hair,  if  possible,  smoother,  with  a  lit 
tle  wreath  of  white  rosebuds  resting  on  it.  On  the 
other  side  of  her  mother  stood  Lucy,  a  very  rose  her 
self.  Her  hair  was  curled,  too,  in  golden  fluffy  curls, 
waving  about  her  face  like  a  bright  halo.  Her  eyes 
were  like  the  deepest  blue  of  her  own  soft  skies,  and 
the  pink  rose  fastened  in  her  hair  was  not  more  ex 
quisitely  tinted  than  her  cheek.  Her  round  white 
arms  were  bare,  and  so  was  her  neck,  gleaming  in 
snowy  whiteness  from  among  clouds  of  soft  tulle, 
which  were  fastened  at  her  waist  with  a  pink  satin 
girdle  where  they  met  the  fleecy  ruffles  of  her  skirt. 

Eunice  had  always  a  confused  remembrance  of  that 
evening:  a   party   where   they   neither    danced   nor 


THE  PATRONEE  PARTY  45 

played  games;  where  the  amusement  was  conversa 
tion  with  a  little  very  good  music,  yet  where  there  was 
not  a  particle  of  "stiffness" ;  where  the  stream  of  talk 
flowed  lightly,  swiftly,  and  sometimes  sparklingly; 
and  where  long  lines  of  young  men  and  young  women 
were  brought  up  and  presented  to  her,— the  young 
men  not  all  handsome,  but  all  having  something 
bright  to  say  in  the  minute  or  two  they  were  per 
mitted  to  linger  at  her  side;  and  the  young  women, 
most  of  them  to  her  eye  extremely  pretty,  and  all  of 
them  to  her  quick  feminine  perception  thoroughly 
well  dressed  and  perfectly  at  home  with  this  kind  of 
thing,  and  very  cordial  and  sweet  in  their  manner 
toward  her. 

But  if  most  of  the  evening  was  a  dazzling  blur  on 
her  memory,  the  latter  part  of  it  always  stood  out 
with  startling  vividness.  She  had  begun  to  be  very 
weary  with  long  standing,  and  from  the  continued 
strain  of  keeping  up  with  so  much  bright  nonsense, 
when  McAllister  appeared  at  her  side.  She  had  seen 
him  earlier  in  the  evening,  but  only  for  a  moment, 
when  he  had  inquired  with  great  empressement  whe 
ther  she  had  recovered  from  the  fatigues  of  her  jour 
ney,  and  she  had  felt  the  foolish  color  leap  up  into 
her  face  at  his  tones.  Now  when  he  appeared  again 
he  said,  with  quite  an  air  of  concern: 

"You  look  tired,  Miss  Harlowe;  let  me  insist  upon 
your  coming  out  upon  the  veranda  and  getting  a  little 
air  and  a  little  rest." 

Mrs.  Charlton  turned  to  her  quickly.  "Yes,  go 
with  Mr.  McAllister,  Eunice;  there  is  no  necessity  of 


46  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

your  staying  here  any  longer.  If  everybody  has  not 
arrived,  they  deserve  not  to  meet  you  for  coming  so 
late.  I  am  going  to  dismiss  Lucy,  too,  in  a  few 
minutes." 

So  she  took  McAllister's  offered  arm,  and  he  skil 
fully  piloted  her  through  the  throng  and  out  the  low 
French  window  on  to  the  veranda.  The  veranda  con 
tinued  around  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  there 
at  the  farther  end  sofas  and  low  chairs  and  an  otto 
man  or  two  had  been  arranged  to  make  a  pretty 
boudoir.  The  full  moon  was  flooding  the  garden,  but 
that  part  of  the  veranda  was  shaded  by  a  great  maple. 
The  seats  seemed  to  Eunice  to  be  all  occupied,  but  at 
their  approach  a  young  lady  rose  from  a  low  easy- 
chair  in  which  she  had  been  half  reclining,  and  a 
young  man  sprang  up  from  an  ottoman  at  her  feet. 

MWe  have  been  saving  this  chair  for  you,  Miss 
Harlowe,"  said  the  young  lady  in  a  pleasant  voice; 
"we  were  sure  you  must  be  tired."  And  the  young 
man  said,  ' '  Here  's  your  seat,  Mac ;  Miss  Mazie  and  I 
are  going  for  a  walk." 

They  lingered  a  moment  to  interchange  a  few  plea 
sant  words,  and  then  as  they  walked  away  McAllister 
said: 

"That  young  fellow  is  "Willie  Dayton,  and  if  I  tell 
you  a  secret  you  must  not  betray  him.  He  is  dead  in 
love  with  Miss  Lucy,  over  head  and  ears,  and  I  don't 
believe  she  cares  a  picayune  for  him." 

He  had  the  air  of  being  very  confidential  as  he 
spoke,  and  assuming  that  they  were  very  old  friends, 
and  Eunice  could  not  help  feeling  that  they  were. 
He  went  on; 


THE  PATRONEE  PARTY  47 

"The  young  lady  with  him  is  the  younger  Miss 
Burton ;  she  does  not  belong  to  the  college  set,  and  is 
invited  only  on  formal  occasions  like  this.  She  and 
her  sister  and  Miss  McNair  and  Miss  Morris  are  all 
here  to-night  from  the  army  set,  with  Lieutenant 
Watson.  They  are  great  admirers  of  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Charlton,  though  they  are  not  at  all  intimate  at  the 
house.  Perhaps  you  remember  meeting  Miss  Morris, 
a  very  handsome  brunette,  and  Miss  McNair,  a  rather 
dashing  girl,  not  exactly  pretty,  but  with  more  men 
at  her  feet  than  any  girl  in  town. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  remember  them  all,"  said  Eunice,  quietly; 
1 '  I  saw  them  the  day  I  arrived,  sitting  on  the  steps  of 
a  house  we  passed. " 

"The  deuce  you  did!"  said  Rex,  betrayed  into  the 
expression  by  his  surprise  that  the  quiet  and  appar 
ently  unobservant  little  creature  had  not  only  taken 
them  all  in,  but  remembered  them  perfectly.  But  he 
regretted  his  expletive  as  soon  as  it  was  uttered;  for 
he  saw  by  Eunice's  shocked  face  that  it  had  all  the 
effect  of  an  oath  on  her  ears. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  quickly,  "for  my  rude 
expression.  But  will  you  please  tell  me,  Miss  Har- 
lowe,  how  you  managed  to  see  so  much  with  your 
eyes  closed  ?  For  I  can  take  my  oath  you  never  lifted 
them  once  when  you  passed." 

Eunice  smiled,  but  did  not  vouchsafe  an  explana 
tion,  and  he  continued : 

"Then  I  suppose  you  saw  my  humble  self  also,  or 
do  you  keep  your  eyes  only  for  the  ladies?" 

"I  saw  you  distinctly,  and  recognized  you  at  once 
when  you  overtook  us  on  our  way  to  the  college,"  said 


48  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Eunice,  looking  at  him  with  her  quiet  gray  eyes,  iu 
which  he  could  see  by  the  moonlight  there  was  a  little 
twinkle  of  amusement. 

"Ah,  thank  you— Miss  Eunice,"  he  murmured 
softly;  "may  I  not  call  you  so?  I  heard  Mrs.  Charlton 
call  you  Eunice,  and  I  thought  it  the  most  charming 
name  I  had  ever  heard,  and  so  perfectly  suited  to  you 
that  I  determined  on  the  spot  to  ask  you  to  allow  me 
to  call  you  Miss  Eunice." 

Eunice  could  not  stand  the  steadfast  gaze  of  the 
bright  black  eyes,  softened  to  a  look  of  tenderness, 
either  real  or  assumed.  He  was  sitting  on  an  ottoman 
at  her  feet,  and  it  was  harder  to  avoid  them  than  if 
he  had  been  looking  down  upon  her.  She  turned  to 
look  away,  and  with  as  much  indifference  as  she  could 
master  answered : 

"I  presume  it  is  the  custom  here.  I  noticed  every 
one  called  Miss  Charlton,  Miss  Lucy;  and  Mr.  Day 
ton  call  Miss  Burton,  Miss  Mazie.  I  am  quite  willing 
to  be  a  Roman  in  Rome." 

"The  cold-hearted  little  Yankee,  with  her  dreadful 
'presumes,'  "  thought  Rex.  "She  is  making  game  of 
me,  but  I  reckon  two  can  play  at  that."  And  forth 
with  he  proceeded  in  his  most  dexterous  fashion  to 
utter  the  soft  and  airy  nothings  he  had  found  so 
effective  in  many  a  flirtation  with  the  girls  of  South 
Carolina  and  Bellaire.  Eunice  parried  them  very 
well,  but  he  had  begun  to  congratulate  himself  upon 
the  impression  he  was  making,  when  two  people  who 
had  been  promenading  the  length  of  the  veranda  now 
approached  them,  and  the  lady  said : 


THE  PATRONEE  PARTY  49 

"Mr.  McAllister,  I  think  you  have  been  monopo 
lizing  Miss  Harlowe  quite  long  enough.  Here  is  Lieu 
tenant  Watson  dying  to  make  her  acquaintance,  and 
I  know  Miss  Harlowe  must  be  anxious  to  get  rid  of 
you.  Miss  Harlowe,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  re 
lieve  you  of  Mr.  McAllister,  and  take  him  to  Mrs. 
Charlton,  who  will  doubtless  find  some  service  for 
him." 

Rex  rose  with  the  slow,  languid  grace  peculiar  to 
him. 

"Really,  Miss  Lydia,"  he  said,  "you  are  too  kind; 
but  if  I  must  be  torn  from  one  fair  charmer,  I  can 
only  rejoice  that  it  is  't'other  dear  charmer'  that 
does  it.  Miss  Harlowe,  I  hope  I  have  not  been  boring 
you ;  but  I  give  you  fair  warning  that  if  you  are  any 
kinder  to  Lieutenant  Watson  than  you  have  been  to 
me,  I  shall  find  it  out  and  call  him  to  account." 

When  he  had  taken  Miss  Lydia  off,  who  was  still 
protesting  she  was  going  to  carry  him  to  Mrs.  Charl 
ton,  a  rather  awkward  silence  fell  on  the  lieutenant 
and  Eunice.  He  was  a  good-looking  young  fellow, 
quite  as  tall  as  Rex  McAllister  and  broader,  with  not 
so  much  padding  at  the  shoulders  nor  quite  so  much 
compression  at  the  waist,  though  the  unwritten  law 
of  the  service  required  a  certain  amount  of  it,  to  which 
every  good  officer  conformed. 

Eunice  had  never  in  her  life  met  an  officer,  and  the 
dazzling  gold  and  blue  of  his  full-dress  uniform 
frightened  her.  His  fierce  cavalry  mustache,  his  mili 
tary  erectness  and  close-cropped  hair,  were  formida 
ble  also ;  but  he  had  honest  brown  eyes  which  invited 


50  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

trust,  and  she  summoned  up  courage  to  ask  him  to 
sit  down.  It  was  a  somewhat  difficult  feat  to  accom 
plish,  his  sword  entangling  itself  awkwardly  with  his 
feet  as  he  took  the  low  seat,  and  he  did  not  look  as 
graceful  as  Rex  McAllister  had  in  that  lowly  attitude. 
Altogether  he  was  so  little  at  his  ease  that  Eunice 
took  courage  from  his  diffidence  and  began  the  con 
versation  by  some  slightly  stilted  remarks  about  the 
beauty  of  the  moon-lighted  garden  with  groups  of 
gaily  laughing  and  talking  people  flitting  through  it. 
The  lieutenant  responded  to  her  efforts,  and,  once 
fairly  launched,  talked  well.  He  had  nothing  of  the 
soft  sentimentalist  in  his  manner,  but  he  had  many 
questions  to  ask  her  about  her  New  England  home; 
for  New  England  was  a  mysterious  land  to  him,  and  he 
was  intensely  curious  about  it.  It  had  been  his  desire 
to  find  out  what  kind  of  creature  a  New.England  young 
lady  might  be  that  had  made  him  express  a  wish  to 
meet  her,  though  nothing  could  have  been  further  from 
his  desires  than  to  have  Miss  Lydia  take  him  at  his 
word  so  promptly.  Eunice  was  glad  to  tell  him  about 
the  home  customs,  and  give  him  her  impressions  of 
these  that  seemed  to  her  to  belong  to  people  of  another 
clime  and  a  foreign  nation.  She  quite  warmed  with 
her  subject,  and  talked  much  better  than  she  had 
talked  with  McAllister,  but  she  was  not  at  all  excited. 
Her  eyes  had  lost  much  of  their  brightness,  and  little 
tongues  of  flame  no  longer  darted  at  inconvenient  mo 
ments  into  her  cheeks.  They  were  getting  on  very 
well,  indeed,  when  a  gay  party  with  Willie  Dayton 
and  Lucy  among  them,  followed  by  Charles  Cook, 


THE  PATRONEE  PARTY  51 

junior,  and  another  colored  boy  bearing  trays  of  ices 
and  cakes,  broke  in  upon  them. 

' '  We  thought  we  should  find  you  here, ' '  said  Willie, 
"and  we  have  come  to  eat  our  supper  with  you." 

He  drew  up  a  little  table  as  he  spoke,  on  which  he 
placed  the  cream  and  cake,  and  then  drew  up  a  sofa 
beside  it  for  Lucy.  They  were  having  a  very  cozy 
little  supper  when  they  were  joined  by  McAllister  and 
Miss  Lydia. 

"Room  for  any  more?"  they  asked,  as  they  came 
up. 

"Plenty  of  room,"  said  Willie,  rising  from  his 
place  beside  Lucy  on  the  sofa.  "Take  my  seat,  Miss 
Lydia." 

"Not  for  worlds/'  said  Lydia,  laughingly.  "I 
should  certainly  feel  de  trop  then.  I  like  this  seat 
better,"  and  she  dropped  into  a  low  chair  and  motioned 
Rex  to  a  seat  on  an  ottoman  beside  her.  But  Rex,  ap 
parently,  did  not  see  her  gesture.  Instead,  he  stopped 
behind  Eunice  and  leaned  over  the  back  of  her  chair 
while  he  half  whispered: 

"You  are  unkind  to  me;  here  you  have  been  talking 
to  the  lieutenant  for  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
you  hardly  allowed  me  ten  minutes. ' ' 

Eunice  was  embarrassed  at  his  confidential  whisper 
ing,  which  yet  the  lieutenant  might  easily  have  over 
heard;  greatly  embarrassed  that  he  should  bend  over 
her  chair  with  an  air  of  devotion  as  new  to  her  as  it 
was  difficult  for  her  to  deal  with;  and  above  all  was 
she  annoyed  and  irritated  with  him  that  he  should 
cause  her  such  embarrassment.  Nothing  could  have 


52  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

been  primmer  than  her  reply  to  him,  unless  it  was 
her  manner  of  making  it;  and  her  words  were  inten 
tionally  clear-cut  for  the  lieutenant's  ear  as  well: 

"I  presume,  Mr.  McAllister,  you  have  found  the 
fifteen  minutes  quite  as  pleasant  as  I  have  found 
them."  If  she  had  supposed  she  was  administering  a 
rebuke  to  Rex,  as  one  might  have  been  led  to  infer 
from  the  severity  of  her  manner,  she  was  mistaken. 
Rex  chuckled  inwardly.  "Jealous,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  "and  playing  off  the  lieutenant  against  me! 
Verily,  the  little  Quakeress  is  progressing. ' ' 

At  her  words  the  lieutenant,  who,  since  Miss  Ly- 
dia's  advent,  had  been  only  waiting  his  chance,  sprang 
up. 

' '  Take  my  seat,  Mr.  McAllister, ' '  he  said,  and  with 
out  waiting  to  see  whether  it  was  accepted  or  declined, 
he  slipped  into  the  one  to  which  Miss  Lydia  had  mo 
tioned  Rex. 

' '  Adorable ! ' '  murmured  Rex,  sinking  into  the  seat 
the  lieutenant  had  vacated  with  a  rapturous  sigh ;  "  I 
shall  always  hereafter  believe  that  fiery  man  of  war 
to  be  also  a  man  of  the  utmost  discernment.  Ah, 
Miss  Harlowe,"  fixing  his  bold  black  eyes  on  her  and 
disregarding  her  blushes,  painfully  apparent  in  the 
flooding  moonlight,  "  'On  such  a  night  as  this — '  : 

How  far  he  might  have  progressed  with  Jessica's 
soft  speech  is  uncertain.  Miss  Lydia 's  penetrating 
tones  interrupted  him. 

' '  Mr.  McAllister,  am  I  to  go  hungry  while  you  whis 
per  airy  nothings  ? ' '  she  said  icily. 

It  was  unpardonably  rude  of  Miss  Lydia;  and  to 


THE  PATRONEE   PARTY  53 

be  rude  to  a  girl  and  a  stranger  was  the  way  to  rouse 
all  that  was  best  in  Rex  to  defend  the  defenseless,  and 
all  that  was  worst  in  him  to  resent  the  rudeness. 

"I  cannot  imagine  so  ethereal  a  creature  ever  suf 
fering  such  earthly  pangs,"  he  answered,  coolly  and 
intentionally  insolent.  "  Lieutenant,  will  you  be  so 
good  as  to  see  that  Miss  McNair  has  an  ice  ?  A  homeo 
pathic  prescription." 

But  the  lieutenant  had  sprung  to  his  feet  at  Miss 
Lydia's  first  words,  and,  with  a  swift  apology  for  his 
neglect,  was  hurrying  away,  and  so  did  not  hear  Mc 
Allister's  speech,  which  he,  in  turn,  might  have  re 
sented.  Strange  to  say  Miss  Lydia  did  not  resent  it 
at  all.  It  seemed,  instead,  to  bring  her  to  a  sense  of 
her  rudeness  to  Eunice,  and  she  apologized  very  pret 
tily  to  her ;  and  Lucy  and  Willie,  throwing  themselves 
into  the  breach  with  an  animated  controversy  as  to 
the  respective  merits  of  the  army  or  the  law  as  a 
profession,  which  they  had  been  discussing  between 
themselves,  and  in  which  they  now,  with  rather  too 
evident  a  purpose,  perhaps,  included  the  others,  all 
was  quite  amicable  by  the  time  the  lieutenant  had 
returned  with  his  ices  and  cakes.  The  little  incident 
had  apparently  created  only  an  access  of  gaiety,  and 
they  lingered  long  over  their  ices,  Miss  Lydia's  high- 
pitched  voice  and  ringing  laugh  more  and  more  in 
evidence  as  the  evening  wore  on  and  as  Rex's  atten 
tions  to  Eunice  grew  more  and  more  pronounced. 

Up-stairs— the  guests  all  gone,  the  house  below  dark 
ened—Lucy  came  into  Eunice's  room  to  "talk  it 


54  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

over"  in  her  dressing-gown  while  she  brushed  out  her 
curls;  and  they  found  so  much  to  tell  each  other  of 
all  that  had  happened  that  they  parted  finally  to  lay 
their  tired  heads  upon  their  pillows  with  the  feeling 
of  old  friends  and  confidantes. 

Lucy  dropped  asleep  at  once,  but  the  experience  had 
been  too  new  and  exciting  for  Eunice ;  she  found  her 
self  going  over  in  her  mind  words  and  tones  and  looks 
that  she  was  quite  sure  meant  nothing  at  all,  and  that 
she  was  quite  indignant  with  herself  for  remember 
ing.  None  the  less,  her  last  waking  thoughts  were  of 
dark  eyes  and  admiring  glances  and  softly  murmured 
words. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   HANDSOMEST   MAN   IN   THE  ARMY 

EUNICE  began  to  fear  life  in  Bellaire  was  to 
prove  a  round  of  dissipation  when,  the  next 
morning  at  breakfast,  Mrs.  Charlton  announced  that 
Mrs.  Barton,  wife  of  the  commandant  at  the  barracks, 
had  invited  them  out  to  "retreat,"  with  tea  on  the 
lawn  to  follow. 

"Oh,  lovely!"  exclaimed  Lucy.  "I  'm  so  glad 
you  're  to  be  introduced  to  the  barracks  so  soon,  Eu 
nice.  That  's  one  of  the  nicest  things  we  do  in  Bel 
laire — walk  out  to  the  barracks  to  'retreat,'  or  some 
times  in  the  morning  to  'guard  mount.'  But  we 
don't  often  have  tea  on  the  lawn  afterward.  It  's 
very  grand,  you  know,  to  be  invited  to  the  comman 
dant's  house ;  especially  if  you  don't  happen  to  belong 
to  the  army  set. ' ' 

Then  a  sudden  fear  as  to  the  walk  presented  itself 
to  her,  and  she  added  quickly : 

"  Is  it  only  we  that  are  invited,  mother  ?  Will  there 
be  no  other  young  people?" 

"Oh,  I  think  so.  I  fancy  it  's  to  be  quite  a  party," 
Mrs.  Charlton  assured  her.  "Mrs.  Barton  says  it  is 

5  55 


56  IN  OLD   BELLAIRE 

a  special  invitation  to  meet  the  'handsomest  man  in 
the  army.'  ' 

"Whom  does  she  mean,  mother— not  Lieutenant 
Watson?"  Lucy's  tones  were  slightly  scornful. 

"I  'm  not  sure,"  answered  Mrs.  Charlton,  slowly; 
"but  I  think  I  know";  and  then  refused  to  hazard  a 
guess.  "No,  we  '11  wait  and  see,"  she  said;  and  had 
hardly  finished  speaking  when  "Judge"  appeared 
at  the  door,  the  bearer  of  a  tiny  white  note  for  Lucy. 

"It  's  from  Cousin  Willie,"  said  Lucy,  looking  up 
at  Eunice  as  she  finished  reading  it.  "He  asks  per 
mission  for  Rex  and  himself  to  walk  out  with  us  to  the 
barracks  this  afternoon.  Shall  I  say  yes  for  you?" 

"I  presume  so,"  said  Eunice,  trying  to  look  as  in 
different  as  Lucy  over  such  a  momentous  affair  as  an 
invitation  from  a  young  man,  and  hoping  that  no 
one  would  notice  the  little  tongues  of  flame  she  could 
feel  darting  in  and  out  of  her  cheeks. 

There  were  only  eight  in  the  little  party  setting  out 
from  Mrs.  Charltom's  door  as  the  late  afternoon 
shadows  were  lengthening  over  the  velvety  turf  of 
the  campus.  Of  the  eight,  only  Lucy  and  Eunice  and 
Rex  and  Willie  were  of  the  college  set ;  Marcia  Morris, 
the  beauty,  and  Lydia  McNair,  the  belle,  were  the 
other  girls,  and  by  their  sides  stalked  two  stalwart 
officers  from  the  barracks. 

They  were  a  pleasant  sight,  those  Bellaire  belles 
and  beaux  of  long  ago,  as  they  walked  down  the 
shaded  streets  of  the  old  town ;  and  the  neighbors,  sit 
ting  on  the  stoops  in  the  cool  of  the  afternoon  and 


THE  HANDSOMEST  MAN  IN  THE  ARMY     57 

watching  them  as  they  passed,  had  only  kindly  com 
ments  for  them.  The  stately  Marcia,  tall,  dark,  and 
graceful,  led  the  way,  and  by  her  side  an  officer,  walk 
ing  awkwardly  as  became  a  cavalry  officer,  his  spurs 
jingling  and  his  sword  clanking  superciliously.  By 
Miss  Lydia's  side  walked  Lieutenant  Watson,  a  glow 
of  pleasure  on  his  fine  face,  and  holding  himself  a 
little  more  proudly  erect  as  he  walked  beside  the  ac 
knowledged  leader  of  Bellaire  society.  Willie  was 
with  Lucy,  of  course — dainty  little  Lucy,  her  golden 
curls  afloat  on  the  breeze,  and  tripping  by  Willie's 
side  with  the  light  and  airy  grace  of  a  fairy ;  and  Eex 
brought  up  the  rear,  holding  with  studied  grace  a 
plain  and  somber  parasol  over  Eunice. 

It  was  something  of  a  trial  to  Rex  that  every  other 
man  was  holding,  more  or  less  clumsily,  a  tiny  sun 
shade  ruffled  gaily,  and  that  Lucy  and  Lydia  and 
Marcia  were  all  a  fluff  of  summer  muslins  and  laces 
over  swaying  crinoline,  while  Eunice's  pearl-gray 
chally  fell  in  straight,  soft  folds  to  her  feet.  Yet 
there  must  have  been  an  atom  of  moral  courage  in  his 
character ;  for  as  he  saw  wondering  or  critical  glances 
directed  toward  Eunice  as  they  passed  in  review 
down  the  long  line  of  Bellaire  burghers  at  ease  on 
their  own  door-steps,  he  said  to  himself  slowly,  no 
ting  Eunice's  gray  eyes  dancing  with  excitement  un 
der  their  long  lashes  and  the  color  coming  and  going 
in  the  oval  of  her  cheeks,  and  her  lithe  and  graceful 
figure  swaying  with  each  elastic  step,  "She  's  as 
pretty  as  any  of  them,  and  a  thousand  times  more 
classic  in  her  style  of  dress," 


68  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton  had  gone  on  in  advance  of 
the  young  folks  in  the  family  carryall,  and  it  proved 
to  be,  as  Mrs.  Charlton  had  conjectured,  quite  a  party. 
Most  of  the  guests  were  already  gathered  on  the  ve 
randa  and  the  lawn  before  the  commandant's  house, 
and  Eunice  found  she  had  another  dreadful  ordeal 
to  undergo  in  the  introductions.  But  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Charlton  were  there  to  keep  her  in  countenance,  and 
Mrs.  Barton  was  cordial  and  sweet,  and  her  own  calm 
exterior  helped  her  to  go  bravely  through  with  it.  It 
was  the  army  set  that  was  present  in  force,  Dr.  Charl 
ton 's  little  household  were  the  only  outsiders,  and 
Eunice  had  already  formed  rigid  ideas  of  the  worldli- 
ness,  or  perhaps  worse,  of  the  army  set;  but  they 
melted  rapidly  away  under  the  thawing  influence  of 
the  gracious  cordiality  that  met  her  on  all  sides.  They 
were  a  manless  company  at  first,  for  the  two  officers 
had  hastily  excused  themselves  to  take  their  places  in 
the  coming  ceremony,  and  Rex  and  Willie  were  the 
only  men  left  among  the  bevy  of  girls. 

"Who  is  your  lion,  Mrs.  Barton?"  asked  Lydia 
McNair.  "We  've  all  been  trying  to  guess.  Mrs. 
Charlton  says  there  's  only  one  man  who  answers  to 
the  description  of  'the  handsomest  man  in  the  army,' 
but  she  won't  tell  us  who  it  is." 

"Wait  till  you  see  him"  Mrs.  Barton  answered. 
"Or  perhaps  you  know  him.  There  he  comes  across 
the  parade-ground  with  Major  Barton." 

Everyone  turned  quickly.  Riding  across  the  open 
square  beside  Major  Barton  was  an  erect,  soldierly 
figure  towering  by  half  a  head  above  the  group  of 


THE  HANDSOMEST  MAN  IN  THE  ARMY     59 

subalterns  surrounding  him.  It  was  impossible  to 
distinguish  more  of  him  than  that  the  close-cut  beard 
and  thick  wavy  hair  were  already  turning  white ;  but 
Rex  exclaimed  quickly : 

' '  Why,  it  's  Uncle  Robert !  There  's  no  mistaking 
' Traveller'  even  at  this  distance.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
more  magnificent  horse,  Miss  Harlowe?" 

Miss  Lydia  gave  Eunice  no  chance  to  reply,  for 
which  she  was  grateful— since  she  knew  so  little  of 
horses  that  she  had  no  intelligent  answer  ready. 

"Of  course!"  Lydia  exclaimed;  "that  description 
could  apply  to  no  one  else."  And  then  a  sudden  si 
lence  fell  upon  the  little  party. 

The  garrison  band  had  been  playing  at  intervals, 
and  at  intervals  also  the  mounted  buglers  had  been 
sounding  their  musical  summons.  In  response  to  the 
summons  the  whole  garrison  was  now  drawn  up  in 
picturesque  order  surrounding  the  tall  flag-staff  on 
the  parade  in  front  of  the  commandant's  house.  The 
shadows  had  been  lengthening  rapidly  across  the  deep 
emerald  of  the  close-cut  lawns, — the  garrison's  pride, 
for  the  turf  was  a  hundred  years  old,— and  now  the 
lower  rim  of  the  sun  was  just  touching  the  horizon. 
Once  more  the  mounted  buglers  sounded  the  beautiful 
"retreat,"  the  sunset  gun  boomed  forth  its  signal,  and 
the  orderly  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  tall  staff  began 
to  lower  the  flag.  As  it  fluttered  slowly  down  every 
soldier  and  every  officer  stood  facing  it  at  salute,  while 
the  famous  band  broke  into  the  strains  of  the  "Star 
Spangled  Banner." 

It  was  Lydia  McNair  who  first  broke  the  silence. 


60  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

The  soldiers  in  squadrons  were  wheeling  and  march 
ing  toward  their  quarters,  and  the  officers  were  dis 
mounting  and  giving  their  horses  into  the  charge  of 
orderlies  preparatory  to  joining  the  ladies  on  Mrs. 
Barton's  veranda.  Miss  Lydia  sighed. 

"No  wonder  our  soldiers  love  their  flag  so,"  she 
said, ' '  when  they  see  it  so  honored  every  day. ' ' 

' '  I  could  die  for  it ! "  exclaimed  Lucy,  ardently,  her 
eyes  beaming  and  her  cheeks  glowing  with  the  enthu 
siasm  with  which  the  scene  had  inspired  her. 

"And  so  could  I!"  exclaimed  "Willie  and  Rex  in 
concert. 

It  was  an  old  story  to  all  those  on  the  veranda,  ex 
cept  to  Eunice.  It  was  a  favorite  pastime  with  the 
young  people  of  Bellaire  to  form  walking-parties  to 
the  barracks  for  "retreat,"  but  the  beautiful  cere 
mony  never  palled  and  never  failed  to  fill  them  with 
love  and  loyalty.  To  Eunice  it  was  new  and  wonder 
ful.  She  had  never  before  known  that  all  over  her 
native  land,  wherever  a  company  or  a  regiment  of  the 
army  was  stationed,  and  on  every  ship  of  the  navy 
riding  the  seas,  the  sunset  hour  was  always  witness  to 
just  such  honoring  of  the  beautiful  flag.  A  fierce 
new  loyalty  began  to  burn  within  her.  She  began  to 
feel  that  heretofore  she  had  been  provincial :  she  had 
loved  New  England,  but  had  cared  but  little  for  that 
whole  broad  country  which  for  almost  the  first  time 
she  proudly  claimed  as  her  own.  She  glowed  with 
pride  to  hear  Eex  ardently  second  Lucy's  speech,  and 
she  longed  to  be  able  to  break  through  her  native  re 
serve  and  second  it  also. 


THE  HANDSOMEST  MAN  IN  THE  ARMY      61 

In  the  midst  of  her  glowing  thoughts  she  found 
herself  being  presented  to  a  tall  soldier  who  seemed 
to  her  to  merit  a  better  description  than  handsome, 
there  was  such  mingled  benignity  and  nobility  in  his 
bearing.  The  dark-brown  eyes  beamed  on  her  in 
kindly  fashion,  but  yet  she  was  sure  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  lightning  lurking  in  their  depths,  and  they 
inspired  her  almost  as  much  with  awe  as  with  liking. 
She  was  aghast  when  one  of  Mrs.  Barton's  little  girls 
rushed  across  the  veranda  and  flung  herself  into  his 
arms.  But  he  seemed  to  like  it  and  not  to  be  embar 
rassed  by  the  child's  noisy  demonstration  of  affection. 

"She  's  namesake  to  both  me  and  my  wife,-"  he 
said  to  Eunice  in  apology  for  the  child,  "and  knows 
she  has  full  liberty  with  her  old  godfather.  Come, 
Roberta,  tell  Miss  Harlowe  your  name." 

"Roberta  Custis  Barton,"  responded  the  child, 
promptly;  and  in  the  same  breath:  "Please,  Uncle 
Robert,  have  n't  you  any  candy  in  your  pocket?" 

"Look  and  see,  Bobolink,"  he  answered,  and  pre 
tended  to  be  greatly  astonished  when  the  child  pulled 
a  bag  of  peppermints  out  of  the  skirts  of  his  coat. 

"Are  you  everybody's  uncle?"  asked  Eunice,  be 
ginning  to  feel  wonderfully  at  ease  with  the  stern 
soldier. 

"Not  'really,  truly'  uncle,"  he  answered,  smiling. 
"I  am  only  uncle  by  courtesy  to  Willie  Dayton  and 
Rex  McAllister  because  their  fathers  and  I  were  col 
lege  chums  and  Rex's  mother  was  one  of  my  childish 
sweethearts.  Of  course,  I  'm  uncle  to  all  of  Mrs. 
Barton's  children;  we  Ve  been  in  barracks  together 


62  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

and  in  camp  together,  and  we  're  all  old  soldiers  to 
gether." 

"Robert,"  said  Mrs.  Barton,  coming  up  at  this  mo 
ment  intent  on  seating  her  guests  at  the  little  tables 
set  on  the  veranda  and  the  lawn,  "I  'm  going  to  put 
you  with  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton." 

"By  all  means,"  answered  Uncle  Robert;  "but  let 
me  have  some  of  the  young  people  as  well.  You  know 
my  weakness,  Emily ;  give  me  Miss  Harlowe  and  Rex, 
at  least." 

"It  will  make  jealousy,  I  fear,"  said  Mrs.  Barton, 
shaking  her  head  doubtfully;  "but  I  know  you  're 
not  happy  without  young  people  around  you.  Not 
to  seem  invidious,  I  will  have  to  add  one  or  two 
others,  and  I  think  I  will  give  you  Lydia  McNair  and 
Lieutenant  Watson  also.  You  remember  the  McNairs 
when  you  were  stationed  in  Bellaire  years  ago?" 

"Of  course !  and  I  remember  Miss  Lydia  as  a  saucy 
little  girl  in  pantalets.  Give  me  her  also,  by  all 
means. ' ' 

On  their  way  to  the  table,  the  colonel  threw  his 
arm  affectionately  over  Rex's  shoulders. 

"Well,  Rex,  and  how  are  they  all  at  home?"  he 
asked  genially. 

Rex  colored  with  pleasure. 

"All  very  well,  sir,"  he  answered  respectfully. 
' '  They  will  be  delighted  to  hear  so  directly  from  you. 
I  shall  write  my  mother  all  about  your  visit." 

"And  tell  her  I  found  her  boy  in  good  company," 
he  said,  with  a  sly  glance  at  Eunice,  which  greatly 
pleased  Rex  as  an  evidence  of  Uncle  Robert's  admira- 


THE  HANDSOMEST  MAN  IN  THE  ARMY     G3 

tion  of  the  little  New  Englander.  But  it  was  not 
the  colonel 's  way  to  lose  an  opportunity  of  uttering 
the  "word  in  season,"  and  so  he  added  in  a  graver 
tone: 

"And  how  is  it  with  you,  my  boy?  Is  everything 
as  it  should  be?  Are  you  making  of  yourself  a  man 
of  whom  that  dear  mother  of  yours  will  be  proud 
some  day?" 

Rex  colored  violently  this  time,  and  hardly  with 
pleasure. 

"I  hope  so,  sir,"  he  said,  at  first  stiffly,  as  one  who 
rejects  unwarrantable  interference.  Then  a  better 
impulse  followed  quickly,  and  he  added  impulsively: 

"I  'm  afraid,  Uncle  Robert,  I  'm  hardly  up  to 
your  standard  or  rny  mother's,  but  perhaps  I  'm  not 
quite  as  bad  as  I  seem." 

There  was  no  time  for  any  further  words,  and  the 
colonel  relinquished  Rex's  shoulder  with  a  friendly 
pressure.  Mrs.  Barton  had  put  him  on  her  right 
and  Dr.  Charlton  on  her  left,  and  since  the  table 
was  a  long  square  and  held  eight  people, — an  im 
possible  number  to  seat  symmetrically, — Eunice  sat 
next  Mrs.  Charlton,  who  was  at  the  right  of  her 
host.  It  was  an  arrangement  that  put  Eunice  directly 
opposite  Rex;  and  though  Rex  was  in  duty  bound  to 
devote  himself  to  Lydia,  by  whose  side  he  sat,  he 
had  a  very  good  chance  to  watch  Eunice,  and  he  was 
curiously  interested  to  note  how  she  would  bear  her 
self  at  what  might  almost  be  called  her  first  dinner 
party.  He  had  begun  to  decide  that  he  had  no  rea 
son  to  feel  ashamed ;  she  lacked  a  little  the  ease  of  the 


64  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

other  guests,  the  primness  inseparable  from  her  was 
perhaps  a  little  more  noticeable  than  usual,  but  her 
air  of  breeding  was  unmistakable  and  her  quiet  dig 
nity  a  pleasant  contrast  to  Miss  Lydia's  boisterous- 
ness,  which,  however,  was  less  pronounced  than  her 
wont,  held  in  bounds  by  her  awe  of  Dr.  Charlton,  in 
whose  kind  blue  eyes  she  liked  to  shine  and  dreaded 
to  read  disapproval. 

Half-way  through  the  supper,  Rex,  who  had  been 
leaning  toward  Lydia  with  his  usual  air  of  devotion, 
lifted  his  head  at  the  sound  of  something  like  a  half- 
gasp  from  Eunice,  and  glanced  across  the  table  at  her. 
She  was  leaning  slightly  forward,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  colonel,  and  the  look  in  them  was  half  horror, 
half  unwilling  interest.  Eex  turned  to  listen  to  what 
his  Uncle  Robert  could  be  saying  to  account  for  that 
intense  expression  in  Eunice's  eyes. 

"Is  it  not  strange,"  he  was  saying,  "that  the  de 
scendants  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  who  crossed  the 
Atlantic  to  preserve  their  religious  freedom,  have 
always  proved  the  most  intolerant  of  the  spiritual 
liberty  of  others?" 

The  good  doctor,  embarrassed  for  Eunice,  hastened 
to  modify  this  statement;  but  the  colonel,  not  under 
standing  at  all  that  Miss  Harlowe,  who  had  greatly 
attracted  him,  was  a  New  Englander,  went  on,  se 
renely  unconscious  of  any  discourtesy : 

"The  efforts  of  certain  people  at  the  North  to  in 
terfere  with  and  change  the  domestic  institutions  of 
the  South  are  unlawful  and  foreign  to  their  duty. 
They  are  neither  responsible  nor  accountable  for  this 


THE  HANDSOMEST  MAN  IN  THE  ARMY     65 

institution,  and  it  can  only  be  changed  through  the 
agency  of  a  civil  and  servile  war." 

"But  I  thought  I  had  understood  that  you  did  not 
approve  of  slavery,"  interposed  the  doctor,  mildly. 

' '  I  do  not.  There  are  few,  I  believe,  in  this  enlight 
ened  age  who  will  not  acknowledge  that  slavery  as 
an  institution  is  a  moral  and  political  evil  in  any 
country;  but  I  think  it  a  greater  evil  to  the  white 
than  to  the  black  race.  My  feelings  are  strongly  en 
listed  in  behalf  of  the  latter;  my  sympathies  are 
more  strongly  with  the  former." 

"Then  why,"  objected  the  doctor,  "are  you  so 
severe  in  your  disapproval  of  the  abolitionist,  who 
thinks  with  you  that  slavery  is  an  evil  to  both  whites 
and  blacks?" 

For  the  first  time  in  the  course  of  the  argument 
the  colonel's  calm  exterior  seemed  ruffled.  Eunice 
saw  the  lightning-flash  she  had  suspected  of  lurking 
in  his  brown  eyes.  He  spoke  with  some  asperity : 

"The  abolitionist,  sir,  must  know  that  the  course 
he  is  pursuing  will  only  excite  angry  feelings  in  the 
master  and  insurrection  in  the  slave.  Emancipation 
will  sooner  result  from  the  mild  and  melting  influ 
ence  of  Christianity  than  from  the  storms  and  tem 
pests  of  fiery  controversy.  This  influence,  though 
slow,  is  sure.  While  we  see  the  course  of  the  final 
abolition  of  human  slavery  is  still  onward,  and  give 
it  the  aid  of  our  prayers  and  all  justifiable  means  in 
our  power,  we  must  leave  the  progress  as  well  as  the 
result  in  His  hands  Who  sees  the  end,  Who  chooses 
to  work  by  slow  influences,  with  Whom  a  thousand 


66  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

years  are  but  as  a  single  day.  But  the  abolitionist 
does  not  approve  the  mode  by  which  Providence  ac 
complishes  its  purpose;  though  the  reasons  he  gives 
for  interference  in  what  he  has  no  concern  with,  hold 
good  of  every  kind  of  interference  with  our  neigh 
bors." 

"I  am  somewhat  of  your  way  of  thinking,"  said 
the  doctor,  benignly ;  ' '  though  I  believe  '  God  moves  in 
a  mysterious  way  his  wonders  to  perform,'  and  the 
abolitionist  may  be  one  of  them. ' ' 

The  colonel  smiled. 

"I  cannot  possibly  accuse  you  of  irreverence,  sir," 
he  said;  "and  perhaps  you  are  right— but  God  for 
bid!" 

Seeing  that  the  colonel  was  now  mollified,  the  doc 
tor  ventured  on  a  question  he  was  greatly  desiring 
to  ask. 

"What  do  you  think,  colonel,  will  be  the  effect  in 
the  South  should  Lincoln  be  elected?" 

The  colonel's  broad  brow  and  kindly  eyes  clouded 
at  once. 

"Ah,  my  dear  sir,  I  greatly  dread  the  result.  You 
remember  that  in  '56  the  South  had  determined  upon 
secession  if  Fremont  should  be  elected,  and  only  the 
election  of  Buchanan  saved  us.  Feeling  is  running 
greatly  higher  now.  As  far  as  I  can  judge  by  the 
papers,  we  are  between  a  state  of  anarchy  and  civil 
war.  May  God  avert  from  us  both ! ' ' 

The  colonel  spoke  with  deep  feeling — a  feeling  the 
doctor  shared  so  strongly  he  could  not  trust  himself 
to  reply.  But  Eunice  had  heard  but  one  word— 


THE   HANDSOMEST  MAN  IN  THE  ARMY      07 

"secession."  Her  whole  soul  was  in  a  turmoil  of  in 
dignation  and  horror.  Hardly  realizing  what  she  was 
doing,  she,  usually  so  calm  and  self -restrained,  and 
with  a  modesty  in  the  presence  of  her  elders  that 
verged  on  timidity,  rushed  impetuously  into  speech. 

' '  Secession  !  Destroy  the  Union !  That  would  be 
the  act  of  traitors!"  she  exclaimed  indignantly.  "I 
am  from  New  England.  I  am  a  descendant  of  those 
Puritans  you  have  just  accused  of  narrow-mindedness 
and  bigotry— and  perhaps  they  are  all  that;  but  no 
one  can  accuse  them  of  not  being  patriots,  or  of  being 
disloyal  to  their  country. ' ' 

Yet,  with  all  her  indignation  hot  within  her,  she  still 
maintained  her  quiet  dignity  of  manner;  and  Rex, 
who  had  at  first  fidgeted  a  little  and  dropped  his 
eyes,  embarrassed  by  what  struck  him  as  her  "strong- 
minded"  attitude,  so  alien  to  all  her  surroundings, 
lifted  them  at  last  and  let  them  rest  on  Eunice  with 
admiration  and  something  akin  to  pride  in  his  long 
look. 

The  colonel's  dark-brown  eyes  expressed  something 
of  the  same  admiration  as  he  hastened  to  disclaim 
all  intentional  discourtesy  in  his  animadversions  on 
her  ancestors.  But  he  seemed  to  feel,  also,  that  in  the 
little  Puritan  he  had  found  a  foeman  not  unworthy 
of  his  steel,  and  so,  his  apologies  fully  made,  he  added 
with  the  kindly  smile  natural  to  him  in  addressing 
a  young  woman:  "Is  it  because  the  South  threatens 
secession  that  you  accuse  her  of  disloyalty  and  lack 
of  patriotism?"  and  as  Eunice  merely  bowed  her 
assent,  he  went  on: 


68  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

' '  Have  you  forgotten  that  his  Britannic  Majesty,  in 
his  treaty  of  peace  after  the  Revolution,  acknowledged 
the  thirteen  colonies  by  name  to  be  'free,  sovereign 
and  independent  states,'  and  there  was  no  quarrel  on 
our  side  with  the  phraseology  of  the  treaty?  And 
in  1786,  you  know,  New  England  made  many  threats 
of  secession,  and  Rhode  Island  did  actually  secede  and 
was  not  readmitted  until  1790.  And  in  1804,  at 
the  time  of  the  purchase  of  Louisiana  from  Napoleon, 
New  England  was  full  of  threats  that  it  would  secede 
from  the  Federal  Union  and  form  a  Northern  Con 
federacy.  Later,  Josiah  Quincy  said  on  the  floor  of 
Congress :  '  If  Louisiana  is  granted  statehood,  it  is  my 
deliberate  opinion  that  it  is  virtually  a  dissolution 
of  the  Union,  that  it  will  free  the  States  from  their 
moral  obligation;  and  as  it  will  be  the  right  of  all, 
it  will  be  the  duty  of  some  definitely  to  prepare  for 
a  separation — amicably  if  they  can,  violently  if  they 
must';  and  from  no  quarter  came  any  denial  of  this 
right  of  secession.  Throughout  the  war  of  1812  talk 
of  secession  was  rife  in  New  England,  and  very  prob 
ably  the  only  thing  that  prevented  the  formation  of 
the  Northern  Confederacy  at  that  time  was  the  treaty 
of  peace  made  with  England.  Now,  my  dear  young 
lady,  I  don 't  want  to  throw  any  discredit  on  your  fore 
bears  ;  I  am  not  sure  but  they  were  well  within  their 
rights  in  all  this  talk  of  secession;  but  I  only  want 
to  remind  you  that  it  is  not  the  South  alone  that  has 
shown  itself  so  disloyal  as  to  threaten  disruption  of 
the  Union." 

Poor  Eunice!       She  was  hurt  twice:  first  in  her 


THE  HANDSOMEST  MAN  IN  THE  ARMY      69 

pride  of  an  unblemished  ancestry,  and  second,  which 
was  perhaps  the  more  mortifying  of  the  two,  in  her 
pride  of  scholarship.  She  could  not  remember  that 
she  had  ever  even  read  these  damning  facts  of  history, 
whose  verity  she  could  not  for  a  moment  discredit; 
and  she  had  prided  herself  expressly  on  being  well 
read  in  the  history  of  her  own  country !  She  had  no 
weapons  with  which  to  refute  the  colonel 's  arguments ; 
there  was  nothing  left  to  her  but  capitulation:  but 
she  was  not  of  that  obstinate  feminine  type  that  will 
never  own  itself  beaten,  and  her  surrender  was  made 
so  sweetly  that  she  took  the  enemy  by  storm  in  the 
very  act  of  making  it,  and  went  down  with  colors 
flying. 

"You  have  quite  confounded  me,  colonel,"  she  said 
in  her  sweet  little  prim  way;  "I  find  I  must  confess 
myself  very  ignorant  of  my  country's  history.  I  shall 
always  be  very  humble  hereafter  about  my  Puritan 
ancestors,  for  it  seems  the  Puritans  of  the  North  are 
no  more  infallible  than  the  Chevaliers  of  the  South. 
But,  individually,  I  shall  always  maintain  that  loy 
alty  to  the  Union  is  a  far  nobler  and  more  patriotic 
sentiment  than  loyalty  to  any  'sovereign  and  inde 
pendent  state'!" 

Dr.  Charlton  led  and  the  colonel  was  the  first  to 
follow  in  the  round  of  applause  that  greeted  Eunice's 
little  speech.  To  her  surprise  and  confusion,  she 
found  herself  the  center  of  attention.  The  guests 
at  the  other  tables  looked  up  to  see  what  had  occa 
sioned  the  commotion  at  the  table  of  honor,  and  saw 
the  grave  Miss  Harlowe  all  smiles  and  blushes  as  she 


70  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

received  the  compliments  and  congratulations  show 
ered  upon  her.  Then  they  saw  the  colonel  rise  to  his 
feet  with  his  wine-glass  in  his  hand,  his  splendid  figure 
erect,  his  waving  hair  a  crown  of  glory,  his  dark  eyes 
blazing.  Lifting  his  voice  to  include  the  little  circle 
of  tables  about  his  own,  he  invited  every  one  to  drink, 
standing,  the  toast  he  was  about  to  propose: 

"The  Union  forever!  Pride  of  our  fathers,  may 
it  be  the  joy  and  glory  of  our  descendants ! ' ' 

Eunice  found  herself  on  her  feet  with  the  others, 
a  wine-glass  in  her  hand,— she,  who  had  never  touched 
the  hated  thing  in  her  life  before,— and  amid  clinking 
glass  and  ringing  cheers  she  raised  it  to  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  NEW   ENGLAND   CONSCIENCE 

IN  the  confusion  of  many  tongues  that  followed  the 
colonel's  toast  Dr.  Charlton  took  occasion  to  say 
to  him : 

"It  gave  me  more  pleasure  than  I  can  express  to 
you  Colonel,  to  find  that  you  are  so  strongly  on  the 
right  side.  In  the  troubles  that  are  threatening  our 
beloved  country,  I  have  been  building  my  hopes  upon 
you,  if  worse  comes  to  worse ;  and  I  have  been  eager  to 
hear  from  your  own  lips  that,  whatever  betides,  you 
are  for  the  Union." 

The  colonel  looked  troubled,  and  it  was  a  long  mo 
ment  before  he  spoke.  When  he  did  it  was  with  the 
air  of  having  made  a  difficult  resolve. 

"My  dear  doctor,"  he  said,  "I  am  about  to  say 
to  you  something  that  I  would  say  to  very  few.  But  I 
know  that  you  will  not  misunderstand  me,  and  I  know 
that  you  will  regard  it  as  a  confidence  and  not  to  be 
repeated.  The  strongest  desire  of  my  heart  at  this 
moment  is  that  the  Union  may  stand  forever  as  it  is 
to-day — unalterable,  indissoluble.  No  greater  sorrow 
could  come  into  my  life  than  to  see  the  Southern  States 

carry  out  their  threat  of  secession.     But  my  own 
e  71 


72  IN  OLD  BELLAIKE 

course,  should  they  do  so,  is  as  yet  uncertain.  I 
shall  be  guided  entirely  by  the  action  my  State  takes. 
If  Virginia  secedes,  I  go  with  her— my  highest  fealty 
is  to  my  native  State.  But  God  forbid  that  day  shall 
ever  come ! ' ' 

He  spoke  slowly  and  sadly,  with  no  air  of  bravado, 
but  rather  of  keen  regret,  and  Dr.  Charlton  looked  at 
him  with  sorrowing  eyes,  as  one  who  understood  too 
well  and  pitied  too  deeply  to  feel  any  anger. 

Greatly  to  Eunice's  distress,  she  found,  very  soon 
after  the  tables  had  been  removed,  that  this  was  to  be 
a  dancing-party. 

The  lawns  and  verandas  were  brilliantly  lighted  by 
gaily  colored  lanterns,  and  now  the  moon  had  begun 
to  pour  upon  them  a  flood  of  soft,  golden  light  that 
paled  the  lanterns.  The  band,  which  had  continued 
to  play  at  intervals  during  supper,  had  gone  off  to  find 
its  own  supper  while  the  tables  were  being  cleared 
away.  Now  it  returned  and  took  up  its  station  nearer 
the  commandant's  house  and  began  to  play  the 
"Invitation  to  the  Waltz."  It  was  a  signal  the 
young  people  seemed  to  understand,  and  Rex,  who 
had  been  talking  to  a  group  of  girls  at  a  little  distance, 
hastily  excused  himself  and  hurried  over  to  the  corner 
of  the  veranda  where  Eunice  was  one  of  a  little  cir 
cle  gathered  around  Uncle  Robert. 

"May  I  have  the  first  dance?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
voice  as  he  bent  over  the  back  of  her  chair. 

Eunice  straightened  up  quickly,  as  if  electrified, 
and  Rex  could  easily  see,  by  the  combined  light  of 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  CONSCIENCE  73 

moon  and  lanterns,  the  horrified  look  in  her  gray  eyes. 
She  might  have  declined  very  sweetly  and  been  just 
as  firm,  but  this  seemed  to  Eunice  an  occasion  in 
which  her  disapprobation  should  be  expressed  by  the 
manner  of  her  refusal. 

"I  do  not  dance,"  she  said  severely. 

Rex  was  amused  at  the  manner  of  his  rebuff,  but 
he  was  not  easily  discouraged. 

"Oh,  not  a  waltz  or  a  polka,  perhaps;  but  you 
would  not  mind  walking  through  a  quadrille  with  me, 
would  you  ?  This  first  one  is  to  be  a  quadrille. ' ' 

Eunice  had  very  hazy  notions  as  to  what  a  quadrille 
might  be,  and  to  know  that  it  was  called  a  dance  was 
sufficient.  But  by  this  time  she  had  recovered  from 
her  first  shock  sufficiently  to  drop  the  severity,  and 
she  replied  quite  amiably: 

"I  shall  have  to  decline,  Mr.  McAllister.  I  really 
know  nothing  about  it,  and  I  should  only  be  an  em 
barrassment  to  you." 

Rex  bowed  his  regrets  and  hurried  away.  He  was 
in  time  to  secure  Miss  Lydia,  who  had  been  skilfully 
avoiding  the  lieutenant,  hoping  that  some  chance 
might  give  her  Rex  instead;  and  whether  it  was  by 
Rex's  management  or  by  accident,  they  took  their 
places  in  the  quadrille  forming  on  the  lawn  just  below 
Eunice's  seat  on  the  veranda. 

Now  Eunice  had  never  so  much  as  seen  a  dance  of 
any  kind,  and  try  as  she  might  to  keep  her  attention 
fixed  on  what  the  colonel  and  Dr.  Charlton  were  say 
ing,  her  eyes  would  wander  to  the  gay  picture  on  the 
lawn  below  her.  Rex  danced  the  quadrille  as  he  might 


74  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

have  danced  the  minuet,  with  stately  grace  and  punc 
tiliously  " taking  the  steps,"  while  Lydia,  with  her 
ruffles  and  laces  gathered  in  one  hand  and  the  other 
held  high  in  Rex's,  curtseyed  and  pirouetted  and 
romped  through  the  dance  with  a  saucy  grace  that 
fairly  bewitched  Eunice.  And  then,  to  her  amaze 
ment,  she  discovered  that  the  couple  facing  Rex  and 
Lydia  was  Lucy  and  Willie,  and  Lucy's  little  feet 
were  twinkling  rhythmically  to  the  music  and  her 
eyes  were  sparkling  and  her  cheeks  glowing  while  she 
went  through  the  intricate  movements  of  the  figures 
with  an  ease  and  a  fairylike  grace  that  astonished 
Eunice.  "Where  had  a  clergyman's  daughter  learned 
such  an  ungodly  accomplishment!  And  so  difficult 
did  it  look  to  Eunice  that  it  seemed  to  her  not  the  least 
of  its  sins  was  the  valuable  time  that  must  have  been 
wasted  in  acquiring  it.  None  the  less  did  she  find 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  she  could  turn  away  her 
eyes  from  so  bewitching  a  sight. 

But  Eunice's  conscience  was  of  the  consistent  type 
that  made  watching  a  sinful  amusement  almost  as 
great  a  sin  as  engaging  in  it,  and  as  soon  as  she  re 
called  herself  to  this  fact  she  resolutely  shut  her 
eyes  and  ears  to  the  bewitching  sights  and  sounds. 
Only  once,  just  before  the  end  of  the  dance,  did  she 
almost  unconsciously  lift  her  eyes  as  the  increased 
sounds  of  merriment  forced  themselves  upon  her  un 
willing  ears;  and  there,  just  below  her,  was  Rex's 
handsome  face  turned  up  toward  her  as  he  circled 
by  in  the  merry  "all  hands  round."  He  nodded 
gaily  as  he  caught  her  eye,  and  his  glance  seemed  to 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  CONSCIENCE  75 

say  saucily,  "Now  are  n't  you  sorry  that  you 
would  n  't  dance  with  me  ?  " 

Eunice  turned  quickly  away  and  did  not  look  again, 
but  she  was  not  surprised,  as  soon  as  he  could  decently 
leave  his  partner  after  the  quadrille  was  over,  to  find 
Rex  by  her  side.  He  was  begging  her  to  try  the  next 
dance  with  him,— a  waltz,— and  here  Eunice  had 
not  only  her  principles  to  sustain  her  in  her  firm  re 
fusal,  her  sense  of  maidenly  propriety  wras  so 
shocked  at  the  mere  suggestion  of  dancing  a  round 
dance  with  Rex  that  she  was  covered  with  confusion. 
And  Rex,  seeing  her  distress,  good-humoredly  de 
sisted  from  annoying  her.  He  sat  down  beside  her, 
and  before  long  had  drawn  her  off  into  a  secluded 
corner  where  the  vines  hung  heavier  and  no  obtrusive 
lanterns  revealed  them  to  passers-by  and  only  faint 
gleams  from  the  moon  between  the  leaves  shed  a  soft 
light;  and  there,  in  those  congenial  surroundings,  he 
set  to  work,  with  an  art  against  which  Eunice's  sim 
plicity  was  defenseless,  to  awaken  her  interest  in 
him  and  win  her  liking, — audaciously  challenging  her 
views  and  rousing  her  to  their  defense,  showing  def 
erence  to  her  intellectual  superiority  (the  weak  point 
in  Eunice's  armor,  since  pride  of  intellect  was  her 
besetting  sin),  and  mingling  with  it  all  the  subtle 
admiration  dear  to  every  woman  and  so  new  to  Eu 
nice  as  to  be  dangerously  dear. 

He  took  her  back  at  last  to  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton 
and  the  little  group  of  older  people  surrounding  the 
colonel. 

"I  must  resign  Miss  Harlowe  to  you,  Mrs.  Charl- 


76  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

ton,"  he  said,  "until  the  next  dance  is  over.  Will 
you  take  charge  of  her?" 

"Let  me  take  charge  of  Miss  Harlowe,"  interposed 
the  colonel,  springing  to  his  feet  gallantly  and  offer 
ing  Eunice  his  chair. 

"Thank  you,  Uncle  Robert,"  answered  Rex;  "and 
please  see  if  you  can't  remove  her  last  feeble  scruples 
on  the  subject  of  the  Virginia  reel  before  I  get  back. 
The  dancing  is  to  wind  up  with  one,  and  Miss  Harlowe 
has  half  promised  to  dance  it  with  me— but  only 
half." 

' '  The  Virginia  reel ! ' '  exclaimed  the  colonel.  ' '  You 
surely  have  no  scruples  against  that  innocent  romp, 
Miss  Harlowe.  I  would  not  mind  dancing  it  myself 
if  I  had  Miss  Harlowe  to  dance  it  with  me.  What 
do  you  say,  Rex— will  you  resign  in  my  favor?" 

"No,  sir — not  even  to  you,  Uncle  Robert,"  an 
swered  Rex,  deferentially,  and  with  a  glance  at  Eunice 
so  ardently  expressive  of  the  joy  he  was  anticipating 
in  this  dance,  half  real  and  half  assumed,  that  Eu 
nice  was  overwhelmed  with  confusion  at  what  seemed 
to  her  such  open  wooing.  Mrs.  Charlton  came  to  her 
relief : 

"I  really  think,  Eunice,  you  need  not  feel  any  hesi 
tation  about  dancing  a  Virginia  reel.  Ask  Mr.  Charl 
ton  if  it  would  be  wrong.  I  defy  any  conscience 
to  be  more  sensitive  than  his." 

"It  's  exactly  as  Miss  Harlowe  feels  about  it, ' '  said 
the  doctor,  gently;  "we  are  each  his  own  mentor. 
My  own  feeling  is  that  a  Virginia  reel  is  only  a  grace 
ful  and  well-ordered  kind  of  game;  but  it  is  not  for 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  CONSCIENCE  77 

me  to  decide."  And  then  he  smiled  upon  Eunice 
with  such  kindness  and  wise  judiciousness  in  his  blue 
eyes  that  Eunice  yielded  at  once.  If  Dr.  Charlton, 
whom  she  already  began  to  regard  as  one  of  the  saints 
of  the  earth,  considered  it  no  harm,  who  was  she  to 
set  up  her  opinion  against  his?  And  she  sent  Rex 
off  extravagantly  joyful — in  manner  at  least — at  her 
primly  yielded  assent. 

When  she  found  herself  one  of  the  long  line  of 
girls  drawn  up  on  the  moonlighted  grass,  facing  the 
long  line  of  men,  with  Rex  directly  opposite,  her  first 
sensation  was  a  dreadful  sinking  of  the  heart.  Why 
had  she  consented?  She  was  only  nineteen,  but  she 
felt  herself  years  older  than  these  gay  girls  beside 
her,  some  of  whom  were  half  a  dozen  years  her  senior, 
and  she  did  not  know  how  to  descend  to  their  youthful 
level.  Then  she  knew  nothing  of  the  dance,  and  al 
though  Rex  had  assured  her  she  would  only  have  to 
watch  the  others  and  follow  them  exactly,  the  thought 
that  she  might  make  a  blunder  filled  her  with  horror. 
Eunice  took  her  dignity  very  seriously,  and  making 
herself  ridiculous  before  these  gay  society  people  of 
the  army  set  seemed  to  her  nothing  less  than  the  deep 
est  ignominy.  But  she  was  no  craven;  she  had  a 
sturdy  Puritan  courage  that  would  not  let  her  falter 
in  a  course  once  finally  undertaken. 

Rex,  standing  opposite,  watched  with  amused  in 
terest  the  grim  determination  expressed  in  the  rigid 
set  of  the  slim  figure  and  the  dauntless  glance  of  the 
gray  eyes.  He  saw  that  she  was  following  with  pains 
taking  scrutiny  every  movement  of  the  dance ;  she  had 


78  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

no  eyes  for  him.  When  it  came  time  for  her  to  take 
part  in  it,  she  made  no  blunders.  She  went  through 
it  with  the  precision  of  an  automaton.  There  was 
no  joyous  abandon,  no  gay  romping  as  with  the  other 
dancers,  and  Rex  found  himself  smiling  covertly  at 
her  seriousness  and  earnestness.  He  took  every  op 
portunity,  as  they  came  together  in  the  figures,  to 
murmur  in  her  ear  words  of  encouragement  and 
praise  for  her  success;  but  she  hardly  dared  to  smile 
up  at  him  her  grateful  appreciation,  so  fearful  was 
she  that  if  she  withdrew  her  attention  one  moment 
from  the  serious  business  of  the  dance  she  would 
make  some  false  move  or  mortifying  mistake. 

Smile  as  he  might  to  himself,  Rex  rather  liked  her 
seriousness  and  earnestness,  and  once  when  he  caught 
on  the  face  of  Marcia  Morris  a  half-sneering  glance 
toward  Eunice  at  one  of  her  particularly  formal 
movements,  accompanying  a  little  speech  to  her  part 
ner  that  he  knew  from  the  answering  glance  and 
smile  must  have  been  one  of  ridicule  of  Eunice,  he  felt 
an  angry  resentment.  "With  all  his  faults,  Rex  was 
a  gentleman  to  the  heart's  core,  and  he  wished  from 
his  soul  that  Marcia  Morris  had  dared  to  make  that 
speech  to  him,  that  he  might  have  resented  it  properly. 

But  creditably  as  Eunice  had  acquitted  herself  in 
the  dance,  it  was  no  sooner  over  than  the  reaction  set 
in  and  her  troublesome  conscience  began  to  upbraid 
her.  Twice  had  she  violated  it  that  evening:  once 
when  she  had  lifted  the  wine-glass  to  her  lips  and  now 
in  the  dance,  and  it  made  the  upbraiding  of  conscience 
but  so  much  the  acuter  that  she  was  painfully  aware  of 


A  NEW   ENGLAND  CONSCIENCE  79 

the  contrast  her  rigidity  and  formality  had  made  with 
the  grace  and  abandon  of  the  others.  Rex's  compli 
ments  had  not  reassured  her.  She  had  suspected  him 
of  discerning  that  she  needed  reassuring,  and  had  been 
grateful  to  him  for  his  intention  while  she  had  doubted 
his  sincerity. 

She  had  been  trained  in  a  religious  school  that 
teaches  confession  is  good  for  the  soul.  She  could  not 
feel  a  consciousness  of  guilt  without  making  confes 
sion  of  it.  It  seemed  to  her  that  it  would  but  increase 
her  sin  to  allow  McAllister  to  believe  that  her  conduct 
that  evening  met  with  her  own  approval,  and  no  re 
pentance  could  be  genuine  that  did  not  begin  with  a 
confession  of  her  fault. 

They  walked  home  along  an  avenue  of  maples  and 
lindens  that  met  over  their  heads  in  so  close  a  leafy 
arch  that  the  moonbeams  could  not  filter  through,  and 
along  a  grassy  path  that  led  beside  a  dancing  brook 
sparkling  in  the  moonlight;  and  thence  across  the 
stone  arch  of  a  little  bridge  crossing  the  brook;  and 
so  on  into  the  lower  town  where  the  old  German  set 
tlers  had  built,  solidly,  cottages  of  stone  and  brick  that 
were  more  like  the  cottages  in  their  native  Rhine 
provinces  than  those  belonging  to  a  new  and  timber- 
growing  country;  and  where  ^saloons  and  beer-gardens 
adorned  every  other  corner,  with  soldiers  drinking 
and  shouting  and  clashing  sabers  in  some,  and  stu 
dents  drinking  and  shouting  and  singing  in  others; 
where  Eunice  walked  closer  to  Rex  and  trembled  and 
shuddered  at  such  open  lawlessness,  and  Rex,  feeling 
the  trembling  of  the  little  hand  on  his  arm  (for  those 


80  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

were  the  days  of  that  obsolete  and  happy  custom  of 
young  people  walking  together  arm  in  arm),  drew  it 
closer  and  strutted  a  little  more,  and  felt  all  the  joy  of 
the  strong  protecting  the  weak.  And  all  along  this 
homeward  way  Eunice  was  struggling  with  her  cour 
age,  or  rather  her  lack  of  it.  It  was  not  until  they  had 
turned  westward  on  old  Langdon  Street,  with  its 
stately  homes  shaded  by  venerable  trees  that  had 
defied  the  storms  of  a  hundred  years,  that  she  ven 
tured,  under  their  friendly  shade,  to  say : 

"Mr.  McAllister,  I  shall  not  feel  at  peace  with 
myself  until  I  have  said  to  you  that  I  am  very  sorry 
for  two  things  that  occurred  this  evening." 

Rex  stiffened  perceptibly,  thinking  he  was  to  be 
taken  to  task  for  some  shortcomings  in  attentions  to 
Eunice,  since  that  was  quite  Miss  Lydia's  way  if  she 
thought  she  had  not  received  all  the  attentions  due 
her. 

"I  cannot  recall,  Miss  Harlowe,"  he  began  stiffly, 
"any  respect  in  which  I  have  failed—" 

"Failed!"  interrupted  Eunice,  puzzled,  "I  do  not 
understand  you."  But  she  was  not  to  be  swerved 
from  the  path  of  duty  now  that  she  was  well  started 
in  it,  and  for  fear  that  she  might  be  turned  aside,  she 
hastened  on: 

"It  is  not  you  that  have  failed— it  is  I.  I  have 
failed  to  be  true  to  my  own  standards.  Mr.  McAllis 
ter,  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  danced  that  Virginia  reel, 
and  I  am  sorry  that  I  lifted  that  wine-glass  to  my 
lips— I  did  not  taste  it." 

"Why,    Miss    Harlowe,"    remonstrated    Rex,    "I 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  CONSCIENCE  81 

thought  you  were  quite  convinced  there  was  no  harm 
in  a  Virginia  reel  since  even  Dr.  Charlton  said  there 
was  none ;  and  as  for  the  wine,  you  could  not  have  re 
fused  to  drink  that  toast— why,  they  would  have  been 
arresting  you  for  a  traitor ! ' ' 

Hex  spoke  with  a  little  good-natured  ridicule.  Miss 
Harlowe's  scruples  semed  to  him  over-fine.  Perhaps 
Eunice  perceived  the  ridicule  and  resented  it.  Her 
tone  was  a  shade  colder,  and  if  Rex  could  only  have 
seen  the  tilt  of  her  oval  chin  he  might  have  called 
it  obstinate. 

"I  presume,  Mr.  McAllister,  we  look  at  such  things 
very  differently,"  she  said.  "I  consider  that  for  me 
it  was  distinctly  wrong  to  have  proved  traitor  to  my 
principles  against  wine-drinking  even  at  the  expense 
of  seeming  disloyal  to  my  country.  I  could  have 
proved  my  patriotism  in  other  ways.  And  as  for  the 
dancing,  I  had  not  for  that  even  the  shade  of  ex 
cuse  I  seemed  to  have  for  the  other. ' ' 

Rex  was  irritated.  "Such  a  pragmatic,  dogmatic 
little  Yankee!"  he  fumed  inwardly.  "She  is  impos 
sible  ! ' '  Outwardly  he  only  put  on  his  grand  air  and 
said  with  elaborate  politeness: 

"Would  you  object,  Miss  Harlowe,  to  telling  how 
you  would  have  proved  your  loyalty  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know"— Eunice  hesitated,  beginning 
to  feel  troubled  and  less  sure  of  herself  before  Rex's 
stately  manner.  "I  suppose,"  she  added  brightly, 
"I  might  have  made  a  little  speech  and  said  I  ap 
proved  the  sentiment  but  disapproved  the  wine." 

Rex  lacked  the  quality  that  was  often  Eunice's 


82  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

salvation — a  sense  of  humor.  He  did  not  for  a  mo 
ment  suppose  that  she  was  speaking  humorously  now, 
and  he  was  trying  to  adjust  to  his  Southern  ideas 
the  idea  of  a  pretty  young  lady  making  a  response 
of  any  kind  to  a  toast  and  in  such  company.  It  ap 
palled  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  there  slowly  be 
gan  to  dawn  in  him  a  new-born  appreciation  and 
admiration  of  a  moral  courage  beyond  his  own  power 
of  attaining,  and  especially  inconceivable  in  any 
young  woman  of  his  acquaintance.  He  had  been  si 
lent  so  long  that  Eunice  was  feeling  still  more  trou 
bled,  saying  to  herself  that  talking  to  a  young  man 
was  certainly  not  one  of  her  accomplishments,  and 
probably  this  arrogant  Southerner  was  despising  her 
as  a  prim  little  prude.  She  was  almost  startled, 
therefore,  at  the  earnestness  and  sweetness  of  Rex's 
tones  when  at  last  he  broke  his  silence. 

"Miss  Harlowe,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  share  your 
views  about  either  wine  or  dancing,  but  I  can  admire 
very  greatly  one  who  has  such  courage  of  her  con 
victions  as  you  have  shown.  It  would  seem  to  me 
a  difficult  thing  for  any  one;  it  seems  wonderful  in 
a  young  and  beautiful  lady. ' ' 

Rex  could  no  more  have  helped  his  little  concluding 
compliment  than  he  could  have  helped  being  a  South 
Carolinian.  But  whereas  the  Southern  girl  might 
have  taken  it  lightly  and  answered  it  saucily,  Eunice 
knew  not  how  to  take  it,  and  was  silent.  Indeed, 
there  was  very  little  more  conversation  of  any  kind 
between  them.  Eunice  was  feeling  a  tremulous  kind 
of  pleasure  quite  new  to  her  and  that  kept  her  silent, 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  CONSCIENCE  83 

and  Rex  was  thinking  seriously— an  unusual  occupa 
tion  for  him.  And  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the  stone 
wall  with  its  overhanging  trees  inclosing  the  college 
campus,  Willie  and  Lucy  caught  up  with  them,  and 
they  all  four  walked  up  the  broad  pavement  outside 
the  wall,  over  whose  red  bricks  the  moonlight  and  the 
branches  had  thrown  a  witchery  of  lacework  for  them 
to  walk  on,  talking  merrily  of  the  incidents  of  the 
evening  and  giving  Rex  no  chance  to  make  the  one 
more  speech  of  appreciation  he  had  been  seriously 
pondering. 

But  he  found  a  chance,  as  he  left  Eunice  at  Dr. 
Charlton's  door  under  the  vine-wreathed  porch,  to 
hold  her  hand  for  a  moment  longer  than  was  necessary 
and  to  say  in  a  voice  so  low  as  to  be  almost  tender : 

"Good  night,  Miss  Eunice." 

No  one  could  accuse  Rex  of  ever  missing  an  oppor 
tunity  of  expressing  a  real  or  assumed  devotion  when 
he  desired  it. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CHOIR  REHEARSAL 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  when  Eunice, 
hearing  in  her  sleep  a  soft  tap  at  her  door,  opened 
her  eyes  and  said  "Come  in." 

Cindie,  the  cook's  little  girl,  entered,  bearing  care 
fully  a  tray  on  which  a  tempting  little  breakfast  was 
arranged.  She  was  called  Cindie  to  distinguish  her 
from  her  mother,  whose  name  she  bore ;  and  now  as 
she  set  her  tray  down  on  the  table,  and  made  her 
funny  little  curtsey,  she  said : 

"Missie  Charlton  'low  youse  better  git  up  now  and 
have  some  brekfus'.  I  'se  jist  took  some  to  Miss 
Lucy." 

Eunice  was  very  much  taken  with  the  pretty  child 
—sweet  as  a  cherub,  she  thought,  until  she  opened 
her  lips  to  speak ;  and  she  answered  smilingly : 

"It  is  very  kind  of  Mrs.  Charlton  to  send  me  my 
breakfast,  and  thank  you  for  bringing  it,  Cindie ;  but 
is  breakfast  all  over  ? ' ' 

Cindie,  emboldened  by  the  kind  tones,  answered 
more  familiarly,  and  with  something  of  the  conde 
scension  she  had  heard  her  mother  use  on  similar 
occasions : 

84 


CHOIR  REHEARSAL  85 

"Laws,  yis,  honey;  brekfus'  done  long  'go;  it  's 
'leben  o'clock,  mebbe. " 

It  was  not  quite  so  late,  really,  but  Cindie  had  very 
little  idea  of  time,  and  she  always  wished  to  make  her 
statements  sufficiently  strong  to  create  a  sensation. 
Eunice  sprang  up,  dreadfully  annoyed  that  she  should 
have  slept  so  late;  and  she  had  just  bathed  her  face 
and  hands  a  little,  slipped  on  a  wrapper,  and  thrust 
her  feet  into  some  bedroom  slippers  when  Lucy  ap 
peared  at  the  door  with  her  little  breakfast-tray. 

"May  I  come  in  and  eat  my  breakfast  with  you?" 
she  said,  looking  like  the  fair  young  Dawn,  Eunice 
thought,  arrayed  in  a  pale-blue  dressing-gown,  her 
golden  hair  a  little  disordered,  and  her  cheeks  with 
the  fresh  morning  roses  blooming  in  them. 

"Yes,  come  in— do,  please;  but  I  am  so  ashamed 
to  have  been  so  lazy.  What  will  Mrs.  Charlton  think 
of  me?" 

"Mother  would  n't  have  liked  it  if  you  had  n't 
been,  after  being  up  so  late  for  two  nights;  and 
Monday  school  begins,  and  this  is  your  very  last 
chance  to  be  lazy  for  a  whole  week.  Mother  never 
likes  to  have  us  late  Sunday  mornings,  so  hereafter 
Saturdays  will  be  your  only  chance  to  sleep  in  the 
morning. ' ' 

"But  I  never  sleep  in  the  mornings  at  home.  I 
am  always  up  to  breakfast,  and  I  do  not  see  why  I 
should  not  be  here." 

"Even  when  you  are  out  the  night  before,  or  up 
late?"  asked  Lucy. 

Eunice  hesitated. 


86  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"Now  that  I  think  of  it,"  she  said,  "I  don't  think 
that  I  was  ever  up  late.  It  seems  to  me  I  have  been 
in  bed  by  ten  o  'clock  all  my  life. ' ' 

"What  did  you  do  when  you  had  callers,  or  went 
to  parties?  Did  callers  always  leave  at  that  early 
hour?  And  were  your  parties  always  over  by  that 
time?"  persisted  Lucy. 

"I  see,"  said  Eunice,  "I  may  as  well  make  a  full 
confession.  There  were  never  any  gentlemen  to  call, 
and  I  do  not  believe  I  have  been  to  a  party  since  I 
was  a  child  until  night  before  last. ' ' 

The  air  of  incredulous  pity— almost  horror — 
with  which  Lucy  heard  this  statement  amused  Eunice, 
and  she  went  on,  still  further,  enlarging  upon  the 
manless  state  of  existence  which  had  so  far  been  her 
lot,  and  assuring  Lucy  that  she  had  not  missed  them 
very  much. 

"Then  I  am  afraid  you  won't  like  it  here,"  said 
Lucy,  dubiously;  "there  are  so  many  of  them:  the 
students,  you  know,  and  sometimes  the  officers,  but 
not  many  of  them ;  and  they  all  seemed  to  like  you 
so  much  last  night  and  at  the  patronee  party.  I  am 
afraid  you  wjll  really  be  bored  by  them." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Eunice,  smiling  and  blushing;  "I 
like  it  very  much.  In  fact,  it  is  such  a  novelty  to 
me,  I  should  n't  wonder  if  I  enjoyed  it  more  than 
you,  who  have  been  accustomed  to  it  always." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Lucy,  ardently;  "I  should 
have  been  so  sorry  if  you  had  proved  to  be  a  New 
England  man-hater.  They  do  have  them  up  there, 
don't  they?"  And  hardly  listening  to  Eunice's 


CHOIR  REHEARSAL  87 

laughing  denial  of  man-haters  being  indigenous  to 
New  England,  she  went  on:  "Do  you  know,  I  think 
it  would  be  such  fun  never  to  have  known  any  young 
gentlemen,  and  then  suddenly  come  to  where  there 
were  plenty  of  them.  Why,  I  should  think  it  would 
be  right  exciting!" 

"It  is,"  said  Eunice,  smiling  at  Lucy's  earnestness; 
"but  you  must  not  let  any  of  them  know  how  unso 
phisticated  I  am.  They  might  take  advantage  of  my 
ignorance." 

"Yes,"  said  Lucy,  taking  her  in  simple  earnest; 
"Rex  McAllister  would,  I  am  sure.  He  is  a  dreadful 
flirt.  You  will  have  to  beware  of  him."  And  then, 
not  noticing  that  in  spite  of  Eunice 's  efforts  the  smile 
had  died  away  and  the  color  was  mounting  steadily 
in  her  cheeks,  she  went  on:  "He  flirts  with  every 
body,  especially  if  they  happen  to  be  new.  But  there 
is  only  one  person  that  he  really  seems  to  care  for, 
and  that  is  Lydia  McNair;  and  the  funny  part  of 
it  is  that  she  seems  to  like  him,  too.  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  it  would  be  a  match  some  day." 

There  was  no  answer  from  Eunice,  and  Lucy 
prattled  on : 

' '  To-night  is  choir  rehearsal,  and  it  meets  here,  and 
Mr.  Rogers,  the  leader  of  the  choir,  asked  me  last  night 
to  invite  you  to  join  it.  You  sing,  don 't  you  ? ' ' 

Eunice  did  sing;  she  was  leading  soprano  in  their 
little  church  at  home,  and  she  was  entirely  too  truth 
ful  to  say  no.  But  she  hesitated  to  accept  the  in 
vitation. 

"Who  is  in  the  choir?"  she  asked  doubtfully;  and 


88  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

then  Lucy  mentioned  the  names,  and  did  not  men 
tion  Rex  McAllister. 

"Oh,  you  must  surely  join  us,"  she  urged,  "we 
need  sopranos  so  much.  We  have  plenty  of  tenor 
and  bass  and  good  strong  alto,  but  half  the  time  I 
am  the  only  soprano  besides  Miss  Allen,  who  plays 
the  melodeon  and  always  helps  me  out  when  I  am 
alone,  for  I  have  only  a  little  bit  of  a  voice.  And 
then  the  rehearsals  are  such  fun,  I  am  sure  you  will 
like  it." 

And  Eunice  said  she  was  sure  she  should,  and  she 
would  join  the  choir  and  help  all  she  could. 

They  had  finished,  their  breakfast,  and  Lucy  rose 
to  go  to  her  own  room  to  dress ;  but  she  put  her  head 
back  in  the  door  as  she  was  leaving  the  room  to  say: 
"Rex  McAllister  does  not  belong  to  the  choir,  but  he 
usually  attends  rehearsals  to  escort  somebody,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  he  will  be  here  to-night. ' ' 

"I  am  glad  of  it,"  thought  Eunice,  grimly,  as  the 
door  closed  on  Lucy.  "It  will  give  me  a  chance  to 
show  him  I  am  not  the  soft  bit  of  rustic  innocence 
he  has  taken  me  for." 

Her  cheeks  burned  now  with  a  very  different  emo 
tion  as  she  recalled  the  soft  insinuations  and  tender 
glances  of  the  night  before.  "Little  Lucy,  with  her 
face  of  babylike  innocence  and  fully  two  years 
younger  than  I  in  everything  else,  is  twice  as  wise 
where  men  are  concerned,"  she  thought  impatiently. 

' '  Little  Lucy ' '  was  wiser  even  than  Eunice  thought. 
Willie  Dayton  had  said  to  her  the  night  before : 

"Does  it  strike  you  that  Rex  is  making  a  dead 


CHOIR  REHEARSAL  89 

set  for  Miss  Harlowe  ?  There  is  nothing  he  likes  bet 
ter,  you  know,  than  a  new  face,  and  I  hope  she  won't 
take  him  seriously.  She  impresses  me  as  one  of  those 
dreadfully  matter-of-fact  people  who  take  every  word 
you  say  in  dead  earnest." 

And  Lucy,  who  was  just  a  little  out  of  humor  with 
Willie,  and  was  pleased  by  nothing  he  could  say,  had 
answered  indignantly: 

''Miss  Harlowe  is  not  'dreadfully'  anything.  She 
is  perfectly  lovely !  If  she  takes  people  seriously — 
why,  people  ought  to  be  honest  enough  to  be  taken 
that  way  always!  But  I  don't  believe  you  need  have 
any  fears  for  her ;  she  is  quite  able  to  take  care  of  her 
self — and  Mr.  McAllister  too,  if  necessary." 

And  Willie,  who  was  determined  not  to  quarrel, 
had  answered  : 

"Oh,  come  now,  Cousin  Lucy,  don't  be  hard  on  a 
fellow;  you  know  I  did  not  mean  it  that  way.  I  like 
Miss  Harlowe.  She  is  a  mighty  sweet  young  lady, 
I  reckon,  and  I  don't  want  her  to  have  any  trouble 
with  Rex." 

But  though  Lucy  had  rejected  Willie's  warning  at 
the  time,  it  had  returned  to  her  with  great  force 
when  Eunice  made  her  confession  of  never  having 
known  any  men,  and  it  was  responsible  for  her  inno 
cent  disclosure. 

The  little  melodeon  had  been  moved  out  from  its 
corner  in  the  back  parlor  to  the  position  of  honor  un 
der  the  chandelier  in  the  front  parlor.  The  possibility 
of  using  the  piano  for  the  practice  of  "sacred  music" 


90  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

would  never  have  occurred  to  any  one;  or  if  it  had, 
would  have  been  rejected  at  once,  as  savoring  of  the 
sacrilegious. 

Around  the  melodeon  in  little  groups  were  the  mem 
bers  of  the  choir,  waiting  for  some  tardy  arrivals, 
but  employing  the  interval  in  a  lively  interchange  of 
talk  seasoned  with  much  laughter.  It  all  looked  so 
easy  to  Eunice,  and  yet  she  was  finding  it  difficult  to 
keep  up  her  share  in  it.  To  have  been  brought  up  all 
her  life  to  think  and  talk  seriously  in  an  atmosphere 
where  even  smiling  seemed  to  have  been  indulged 
in  rather  under  protest,  and  now  to  be  suddenly 
transported  to  a  clime  where  lively  talk  and  joy 
ous  laughter  were  the  order  of  the  day  and  night; 
where  people  smiled  and  chatted  as  easily  as  they  ate 
and  drank,  gave  her  an  uncomfortable  sense  of  her 
own  rigidity,  against  which  she  was  making  desper 
ate  struggles. 

Much  of  the  conversation  of  these  pretty  girls  and 
gallant  young  fellows  seemed  to  her  silly  and  meaning 
less,  but  she  envied  them  the  ease  and  grace  of  their 
silliness,  and  she  thought  she  would  have  been  quite 
ready  to  exchange  for  it  some  of  her  more  solid 
attainments.  Fortunately  for  her  comfort,  it  was  the 
most  dignified  man  in  the  room  who  was  now  gravely 
discussing  with  her  the  respective  merits  of  "China" 
and  "Peterboro,"  "Ortonville"  and  "Dundee." 
Eunice  was  well  up  in  all  the  music  between  the 
covers  of  the  old  "Lute  of  Zion,"  and  he  found  her 
excellent  aid  in  selecting  the  tunes  best  suited  to  the 
little  list  of  hymns  he  held  in  his  hand,  which  they 


CHOIR  REHEARSAL  91 

had  been  looking  out  in  the  hymn-book  and  reading 
over  together. 

She  was  losing  much  of  her  constrained  feeling,  and 
beginning  to  enjoy  herself  in  the  sense  she  had  of 
being  on  familiar  ground,  when  she  became  aware 
that  Rex  McAllister  was  entering  the  room.  Her  eyes 
were  fastened  on  the  page  before  her  and  she  did  not 
lift  them,  but  she  saw  him  quite  as  distinctly  as  if 
she  had.  He  was  accompanying  the  organist,  Miss 
Allen,  for  whom  they  had  been  waiting,  and  Eunice 
was  conscious  that  after  speaking  a  moment  to  Lucy 
he  started  toward  her.  She  still  did  not  lift  her  eyes, 
and  was  trying  to  go  on  with  what  she  was  saying 
to  Mr.  Rogers  calmly  and  indifferently;  but  she  must 
have  got  it  very  much  mixed,  for  Mr.  Rogers  looked 
puzzled  and  begged  her  to  repeat  it. 

By  that  time  there  was  no  ignoring  the  fact  that 
McAllister  was  standing  directly  in  front  of  her, 
in  an  attitude  of  mingled  condescension  and  deference ; 
the  condescension  being  natural,  and  due  to  an  inner 
feeling  that  a  very  fine  Southern  gentleman  was  mak 
ing  his  bow  to  a  bit  of  Northern  simplicity,  and  the 
deference  assumed  as  the  manner  likely  to  be  most 
effective  with  so  dignified  and  intellectual  a  young 
lady.  It  would  be  putting  it  very  mildly  to  say  that 
he  was  abashed  when  Eunice  lifted  her  calm  eyes, 
and  with  a  formal  "Good  evening,  Mr.  McAllister," 
ignored  entirely  his  extended  hand  and  turned  at 
once  to  Mr.  Rogers.  The  hot  blood  rushed  to  the 
South  Carolinian's  face,  his  eyes  flashed,  and  his  hand 
dropped  to  his  side,  while  he  made  an  extremely  low 


92  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

bow  of  ironical  deference,  and  then  passed  on,  making 
the  circuit  of  the  room  and  stopping  to  talk  for  a 
few  minutes  with  each  young  lady  present.  Wit 
nesses  to  his  discomfiture  had  not  been  wanting.  Willie 
Dayton  and  Lucy  had  both  been  furtively  watching 
the  greeting  with  much  interest,  and  Mr.  Rogers  had 
seen  it  and  wondered.  That  made  it  of  course  so 
much  the  more  galling,  and  Rex  was  fiercely  brood 
ing  on  revenge  while  he  was  uttering  his  pretty 
speeches.  As  for  Willie  and  Lucy,  they  were  amazed, 
and  Lucy  blushed  a  deep  crimson  for  what  seemed  to 
her  Eunice's  unpardonable  rudeness.  She  could  see 
no  reason  for  it  at  all,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her 
that  her  little  remarks  about  Rex  and  his  flirtations 
could  have  been  responsible. 

Eunice  had  acted  deliberately  in  what  had  seemed 
to  her  the  very  best  way  to  show  to  McAllister  that 
she  was  no  unsophisticated  maiden,  ready  to  listen 
to  and  accept  all  the  sweet  things  he  might  find  it 
pleasant  to  utter.  She  had  wished  to  prove  to  him 
that  she  was  quite  a  woman  of  the  world,  taking  at 
its  true  valuation  what  he  had  already  said,  but  un 
willing  to  listen  any  further  to  his  insincerities.  She 
did  not  remember  that  she  had  no  pretext  for  being 
offended,  and  that  without  such  pretext  to  refuse  to 
take  a  man's  hand  in  a  room  full  of  his  friends  was 
to  say  in  effect,  "I  consider  you,  sir,  unworthy  to 
touch  my  hand."  She  was  really  so  unsophisticated 
that  she  had  no  conception  of  the  rudeness  of  which 
she  had  been  guilty,  and  was  feeling  now  a  glow  of 
triumph  at  having  effectually  humbled  the  compla- 


CHOIR  REHEARSAL  93 

cent  Lothario,  instead  of  any  remorse  at  having  over 
stepped  the  bounds  of  good  breeding.  She  hardly 
thought  of  it  even  in  the  light  of  having  administered 
a  reproof  to  McAllister;  it  was  more  as  of  having 
asserted  her  own  position  as  a  young  woman  who  un 
derstood  both  herself  and  him. 

There  was  a  latent  feeling  of  anticipatory  delight, 
also,  in  the  humble  attitude  she  fancied  he  would 
assume  until  finally  she  might  forgive  him  for  his 
attempt  to  play  with  her  ignorance  and  receive  him 
back  on  terms  of  friendship.  But  for  this  latent 
feeling,  there  would  have  been  too  much  of  the  alloy 
of  pain  mingled  with  the  triumph ;  for  in  spite  of  her 
attempts  to  persuade  herself  differently,  his  efforts 
at  winning  her  interest  had  not  been  in  vain. 

Even  if  she  had  had  more  experience  with  men  in 
her  own  part  of  the  country,  she  would  have  hardly 
been  able  to  comprehend  the  fierce  passions  that  her 
little  act  had  aroused.  In  the  heart  of  a  Massachu 
setts  man  it  might  have  produced  a  feeling  of  cold 
contempt  or  indifference  toward  the  young  lady  who 
had  been  capable  of  such  an  offense ;  but  in  the  heart 
of  the  proud  and  fiery  South  Carolinian  it  set  the 
match  at  once  to  the  volcanic  passions  that  were  al 
ways  but  lightly  slumbering  and  ready  to  burst  into 
eruption  at  a  touch.  It  was  a  boiling  and  seething 
crater  that  he  was  at  this  moment  carrying  in  his 
bosom,  inwardly  cursing  his  fate  that  the  "Little 
Yankee"  was  not  a  man  whom  he  might  have  knocked 
down  at  a  blow  and  called  out  afterward.  But  since 
she  was  not,  he  was  swiftly  arranging  in  his  mind  a 


94  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

line  of  revenge  that  would  be  quite  as  effective  and 
devilish  enough  to  satisfy,  his  worst  impulses.  He  was 
quick  enough  to  perceive  that  her  action  did  not  de 
note  indifference,  but  was  probably  incited  by  a  feel 
ing  that  she  was  yielding  too  easily  to  his  influence, 
and  was  as  much  a  determined  resistance  to  it  as 
scorn  of  him  personally.  None  the  less  did  he  decide 
to  make  her  suffer  for  the  humiliation  she  had  sub 
jected  him  to— and  before  Rogers!— the  last  man  he 
would  have  been  willing  to  have  witness  it ;  for  Rogers 
was  a  straightforward,  honest  Pennsylvanian  who  had 
more  than  once  not  hesitated  to  express  his  disapproval 
of  the  Carolinian,  who  though  far  from  being  the 
blackleg  and  toper  that  Rogers  considered  him,  had 
none  of  the  Northerner's  prejudices  against  wine  and 
cards. 

Eunice  'a  rebuff  had  not  in  the  least  shaken  his  con 
fidence  in  his  powers  of  fascination.  He  believed 
thoroughly  that  the  citadel  of  no  woman's  heart 
could  hold  out  if  he  laid  siege  to  it  in  earnest — and 
that  was  what  he  resolved  upon  the  instant  to  do. 
He  should  leave  no  wile  unemployed  until  this  cold 
little  Yankee  heart  was  absolutely  under  his  sway ;  and 
then,  when  he  had  won  it,  he  would  fling  it  back  at  her 
with  scorn  and  remind  her  of  the  time  when  she  had 
dared  to  humiliate  him  openly. 

Rex  McAllister  had  never  considered  himself  a  bad 
fellow.  Heretofore  his  flirtations,  if  not  perfectly 
harmless,  had  been  without  any  purpose  of  harm.  He 
had  been  as  much  beguiled  as  beguiling.  Also,  he 
would  have  been  ready  to  challenge  any  man  who 


CHOIR  REHEARSAL  95 

dared  to  breathe  that  he  was  not  the  soul  of  honor. 
But  if  it  had  been  suggested  to  him  that  this  was  not 
an  honorable  line  of  action  he  was  laying  out  for 
himself,  he  would  have  defended  himself  with  the 
plea  that  "all  is  fair  in  love  and  war,"  and  "revenge 
is  always  noble." 

As  for  Eunice,  she  was  rather  happy  than  otherwise. 
Her  little  act  of  self-assertion  gave  her  a  novel  sen 
sation  of  power,  and  she  was  beginning  to  enjoy 
the  complex  emotions  of  this  new  life  which  made 
the  old  seem  tame  and  vapid  by  contrast.  And  she  did 
not  dream  of  the  net  of  difficulties  and  entangle 
ments  she  had  woven  for  herself. 

It  was  not  until  Mr.  Rogers  had  called  his  choir  to 
gether  and  Eunice  had  taken  her  place  with  the  so 
pranos  that  Rex  chose  a  seat  for  himself.  Then  he 
took  one,  a  deep  easy-chair  which  permitted  an  indo 
lent,  half-lounging  attitude,  well  suited  to  express 
either  easy  indifference  or  romantic  dejection  (and 
he  had  not  quite  determined  which  it  should  be), 
and  so  placed  that  it  not  only  commanded  an  unin 
terrupted  view  of  Eunice,  but  made  it  almost  impos 
sible  also  that  her  glance  should  not  frequently  fall 
on  him. 

Eunice's  voice  was  what  her  face  would  have  led 
you  to  expect:  a  cool,  clear  soprano,  without  much 
magnetic  quality,  strong  and  a  little  prim  in  its  de 
liverance,  while  an  odd  way  she  had  of  accenting 
the  music  with  little  movements  of  her  body  struck 
Rex  as  amusingly  suggestive  of  the  Yankee  school- 
ma'am.  It  was  a  habit  contracted,  no  doubt,  from 


96  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

having  been  for  several  years  leader  of  the  choir  at 
home,  and  took  with  her  the  place  of  a  baton  as  a 
means  of  setting  the  time  for  the  rest.  She  was  not 
without  her  own  little  conceits,  also.  She  believed 
that  she  sang  well,  and  Lucy,  whom  she  unconsciously 
regarded  as  a  mere  child  with  a  sweet  little  voice,  was 
the  only  other  soprano,  and  she  felt  the  responsibility 
of  her  position.  She  liked  to  sing;  she  read  music 
well,  and  was  prompt  in  her  time  and  unfaltering 
as  a  leader.  Mr.  Rogers,  who  stood  beside  her,  evi 
dently  perceived  her  ability  and  rejoiced  in  it,  and 
she  was  enjoying  herself  thoroughly  when  her  glance 
fell  upon  Kex. 

It  had  been  part  of  her  enjoyment  in  singing,  the 
consciousness  that  Rex  was  listening  to  her,  and 
she  never  doubted  his  admiration  and  perhaps  sur 
prise  at  her  possession  of  such  an  accomplishment. 
Now  to  discover  upon  his  face  that  look  of  half-cynical 
amusement  was  a  mortifying  disappointment.  Her 
elation  in  her  newly  acquired  power  vanished  at  once ; 
she  became  confused  and  miserably  uncertain  of  her 
self.  She  felt  that  she  must  have  made  some  mistake 
in  her  treatment  of  this  man,  who  was  neither  awed 
nor  admiring,  but  only  amused.  And  feeling  no 
longer  sure  of  herself  in  any  respect,  she  began  to  lose 
confidence  in  her  singing,  and  for  a  few  moments 
Mr.  Rogers  feared  his  leading  soprano  was  not  going 
to  prove  perfectly  reliable. 

Rex  had  not  intended  to  be  caught  with  that  look 
upon  his  face,  and  for  a  moment  he  was  inclined  to 
be  vexed  with  himself ;  but  noting  its  effect  upon  her, 


CHOIR  REHEAESAL  97 

he  keenly  concluded  that  it  might  prove  just  as  well, 
after  all.  By  destroying  her  confidence  in  herself,  he 
was  preparing  the  way  for  repentance  and  humility 
on  her  part.  When  next  her  glance  fell  upon  him, 
there  should  be  upon  his  face  either  rapt  admiration 
of  her  singing,  which  would  soothe  her  wounded 
vanity,  or  deep  and  dejected  reproach  that  would 
arouse  her  pity  and  remorse.  He  decided  to  use  both 
— the  admiration  first  and  the  reproach  afterward. 
It  was  a  long  time  before  Eunice  looked  at  him  again, 
and  she  would  not  have  looked  then  if  she  could  have 
helped  it.  She  dreaded  to  meet  that  smile  that  was 
half  a  sneer,  but  there  was  some  compelling  power 
in  his  steady  gaze,  and  she  did  look  at  last,  half  de 
fiantly.  What  she  saw  restored  her  at  once  to  her 
self-esteem,  and  relieved  her  horrible  sense  of  being 
ridiculed.  Rex  had  contrived  to  throw  a  great  deal 
of  admiration  into  his  eyes,  and  much  of  it  was  gen 
uine.  He  liked  music,  he  thought  singing  a  most 
ladylike  accomplishment,  and,  except  for  her  little 
mannerisms,  Eunice  sang  more  than  fairly  well. 
Then,  when  he  saw  that  the  admiration  had  produced 
its  effect,  he  pretended  to  be  taken  by  surprise  again, 
and  rapidly  changed  his  expression  to  one  of  mute 
reproach  and  question.  Eunice  had  no  weapons  with 
which  to  meet  his  arts.  She  had  been  warned  about 
him,  but  to  be  swiftly  whirled  from  elation  to  self- 
abasement,  back  again  to  gratified  vanity,  and  then 
to  awakening  pity  and  regret,  left  her  with  a  dizzy 
sense  of  helplessness.  She  began  to  feel  heartily 
sorry  for  her  discourtesy,  and  to  hope  for  some  oppor- 


98  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

tunity  of  apologizing  during  the  evening.  There 
would  be  none,  of  course,  during  the  rehearsal,  but 
that  came  to  an  end  at  last.  They  had  tried  over  all 
the  hymns  and  practised  the  opening  anthem,  her 
own  selection,  "I  was  glad  when  they  said  unto  me, 
Let  us  go  into  the  house  of  the  Lord,"  until  Mr. 
Rogers  said  it  would  do,  and  dismissed  them  from  fur 
ther  practice.  At  the  clamor  of  merry  voices  the 
doctor  and  his  wife  came  down  to  the  parlor  and 
mingled  with  the  young  people ;  they  would  have  con 
sidered  it  very  discourteous  to  their  daughter 's  friends 
to  have  done  otherwise,  and  the  young  people  them 
selves  would  have  missed  their  cordial  presence. 

But  in  the  pleasant  half-hour  that  followed  no  op 
portunity  presented  itself  for  her  apology.  Rex  did 
not  come  near  her,  and  Mr.  Rogers,  who  had  missed 
the  bright  animation  of  his  coadjutor  in  the  early 
part  of  the  evening,  rather  devoted  himself  to  her  as 
feeling  himself  somewhat  to  blame.  The  company 
broke  up  finally  and  she  had  only  a  distant  and  very 
formal  bow  from  Rex  as  he  left  the  room  with  Miss 
Allen. 

Eunice  was  quite  miserable  by  this  time,  and  when 
she  went  up-stairs  she  found,  from  a  little  cold  reserve 
in  Lucy's  manner,  that  she  too  did  not  approve  of  her. 
They  had  grown  into  a  warm  friendship  in  these  four 
days,  and  now  Lucy  went  to  her  own  room  at  once, 
without  coming  into  Eunice's  to  talk  over  the  even 
ing,  and  she  began  to  feel  with  acute  mortification 
that  she  had  probably  sinned  unpardonably  against 
the  conventions,  and  there  is  perhaps  no  kind  of  sin 


CHOIR  REHEARSAL  99 

that  can  make  one  feel  more  thoroughly  uncomfort 
able,  or  dye  the  cheek  with  a  deeper  hue  of  shame. 

Lucy  did  disapprove  of  Eunice,  and  for  that  reason 
had  not  followed  her  to  her  room ;  but  her  ardent  lit 
tle  heart  would  not  let  her  cherish  such  a  feeling  in 
silence,  and  she  very  soon  concluded  to  go  to  Eunice 
and  "have  it  out." 

Eunice  answered  her  knock  with  a  quick  beating  of 
the  heart,  but  she  coldly  waited  for  Lucy  to  begin, 
and  she  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  After  one  or  two 
indifferent  remarks  on  the  evening,  Lucy  burst  forth : 

"Eunice,  how  could  you  treat  Rex  McAllister  so? 
Has  he  done  anything  dreadful?  I  never  saw  any 
thing  so  marked  in  my  life." 

Eunice's  face  was  a  picture  of  dreariness  as  she 
answered : 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  it  's  all  the  fault  of  my  never 
having  known  any  young  gentlemen,  I  suppose.  I 
am  afraid  I  will  always  be  getting  into  trouble  here, 
and  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  go  home." 

Lucy  was  touched  by  the  hopelessness  of  the  tone, 
and  it  accomplished  what  the  tears  of  another  girl 
might  not  have  done.  She  put  her  arms  around  Eu 
nice  and  said  with  quick  relenting : 

"Why,  you  poor  girl,  I  suppose  you  really  did  n't 
know  that  you  could  offer  no  graver  insult  to  a  man 
like  Rex  than  to  refuse  to  take  his  hand.  But  it 
does  n't  make  a  bit  of  difference;  it  is  n't  worth 
being  unhappy  over.  I  am  sorry  I  spoke  of  it." 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me,  Lucy,  what  to  do,"  said 
Eunice,  trying  to  feel  at  home  in  Lucy's  encircling 


100  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

arms,  and  feeling  bitterly  that  her  miserable  unde- 
monstrativeness  would  not  let  her  do  what  she  was 
really  longing  to  do— give  Lucy  a  warm  kiss  and  hug 
to  show  her  she  appreciated  her  sympathy.  "I  see 
now  that  I  have  been  very  rude ;  do  you  think  I 
ought  to  write  him  an  apology?" 

Lucy  thought  a  minute,  with  a  pretty  pucker  be 
tween  her  eyes  that  showed  her  perplexity. 

"No,"  she  said  slowly;  "I  think  I  would  n't— to 
Rex  McAllister.  There  is  no  telling  what  use  he 
might  make  of  it.  If  it  were  Willie  Dayton,  now, 
it  would  be  different ;  he  would  never  do  any  but  the 
most  generous  and  considerate  thing.  I  would  wait 
a  few  days,  anyway ;  you  may  have  a  chance  to  make 
a  verbal  apology;  and  if  you  don't,  the  worst  that 
can  happen  will  be  that  he  will  be  perfectly  furious, 
and  find  some  means  of  taking  his  revenge,  but  it 
won't  be  anything  very  dreadful,  I  reckon." 

Eunice  did  not  quite  like  the  way  Lucy  spoke  of 
Rex.  The  balance  was  surging  up  now  in  the  other 
direction,  and  Rex  was  in  the  ascending  scale.  She 
thought  if  Lucy  had  beheld  the  tender  reproach  she 
had  seen  in  his  eyes  that  evening,  she  would  not  talk 
of  fury  and  revenge. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SUNDAY  IN  BELLAIRE 

SUNDAY  had  always  been  a  rather  dreary  day 
to  Eunice.  The  going  to  church  morning  and 
evening  was  a  relief  from  the  dull  monotony,  and  she 
was  a  devout  admirer  of  her  father's  sermons  and 
never  failed  to  discover  many  beauties  and  rnu^h 
wisdom  in  them.  Had  they  not  been  half  as  good  as 
they  really  were,  it  is  probable  her  devoted  love  would 
still  have  been  blind  to  their  imperfections. 

But  it  was  the  long  afternoon  that  Eunice  dreaded 
when  she  dared  not  look  into  the  books  that  she  liked, 
and  found  nothing  interesting  in  those  she  was  per 
mitted  to  read,  when  she  was  divorced  from  the  lit 
tle  shuttle  that  was  her  constant  companion  in  those 
moments  she  called  idle  during  the  week,  and  when 
there  was  no  refuge  even  in  music:  both  her  father 
and  mother  would  have  been  infinitely  shocked  at  the 
idea  of  opening  the  piano  on  the  "Lord's  Day"  even 
for  the  sake  of  playing  "Old  Hundred." 

When  she  woke,  therefore,  on  her  first  Sunday 
morning  in  Bellaire,  there  was  added  to  the  discom 
fort  remaining  from  the  experience  of  the  evening 
before  the  vague  dreariness  inseparably  associated 

101 


102  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

with  the  day.  But  this  feeling  was  dissipated  in  the 
cheerful  breakfast-room,  where  she  found  a  table  full 
of  bright,  rosy-faced  boys,  a  little  happier  and  a  little 
more  irrepressible  than  she  had  ever  seen  them  be 
fore,  their  awe  of  the  new  teacher  wearing  off  a  little, 
and  with  nothing  of  Sunday  gloom  about  them. 

There  was  a  quiet  hour  afterward  for  studying 
Sunday-school  lessons  and  talks  with  mother,  and  then 
the  little  procession  set  off  for  church  with  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Charlton  leading,  Lucy  and  Eunice  immediately 
following,  the  Big  Boys  next,  as  Henry  Sidney  and 
George  Edgar  were  called  to  distinguish  them  from 
the  two  younger  ones,  and  Millicent  bringing  up  the 
r§ar  with  Charles  Ernest  and  Theodore  Howard  cling 
ing  to  her  hand  on  either  side.  As  the  Charlton  pew 
was  in  the  very  front  of  the  church,  the  filing  down 
the  aisle  of  the  long  procession  always  created  more 
or  less  of  a  stir  in  the  congregation,  and  likening  it 
to  the  circus  parade  had  become  a  standing  joke  with 
Henry  Sidney,  who  had  inherited  something  of  his 
father's  humorous  way  of  regarding  life. 

It  was  early,  but  a  very  good  congregation  had  al 
ready  assembled,  and  as  Eunice  and  Lucy  took  their 
places  in  the  choir-gallery,  Eunice  could  see  that  the 
back  of  the  church  was  almost  entirely  occupied  by 
the  black  coats  of  the  students.  At  the  cabinet  organ 
sat  Miss  Allen,  who  gave  her  a  smiling  greeting,  as 
did  also  the  other  members  of  the  choir.  Mr.  Rogers 
came  in  a  moment  later,  and  stopped  to  speak  to  her, 
asking  her  to  change  her  seat  so  that  she  would  sit 
next  to  him,  that  he  might  be  able  to  consult  her  if 


SUNDAY  IN  BELLAIRE  103 

necessary.  It  gave  her  a  pleasant  little  sense  of  im 
portance  thus  to  be  honored  before  strangers,  and 
by  the  time  they  were  ready  to  begin  the  services  she 
was  in  good  humor  with  herself  and  her  surroundings 
and  quite  ready  to  sing  her  best.  And  then,  in  the 
very  middle  of  the  opening  anthem,  she  discovered 
a  graceful,  indolent  figure  lounging  in  the  corner  of 
his  pew,  and  so  turned  that  he  could  gaze  directly 
up  at  her.  It  gave  her  a  momentary  start,  commu 
nicated  to  her  voice  in  a  mortifying  little  quaver; 
but  she  recovered  herself  instantly,  and  after  that 
sang  all  the  better  for  the  consciousness  of  that  steady 
gaze.  Not  that  Rex  was  openly  annoying:  he  had  a 
way  which,  while  it  made  Eunice  perfectly  aware 
of  it,  yet  left  him  with  the  air  of  purposeless  and 
careless  glances. 

But  Eunice  was  not  going  to  allow  herself  to  be  dis 
tracted  by  black  eyes  or  "ungodly"  thoughts  during 
the  sermon.  She  sat  well  back  in  her  seat,  where 
there  could  be  no  possibility  of  Rex  catching  even  a 
glimpse  of  the  tip  of  her  white  straw  poke  with  its 
wreath  of  white  and  purple  lilacs  around  the  crown 
making  a  cool,  fresh  setting  to  the  demure  face  and 
light  brown  curls.  Then  she  gave  herself  up  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  sermon,  and  by  the  time  the  dox- 
ology  had  been  sung  and  the  benediction  pronounced 
she  felt  herself  once  more  an  orthodox  Christian  whose 
Sunday  calm  could  be  disturbed  by  no  bold  glances. 

Then  there  was  the  pleasant  dinner-hour,  full  of 
bright  discussion  of  the  sermon  and  reviewing  of  the 
little  incidents  of  the  morning,  lingering  over  the  fruit 

8 


104  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

and  coffee,  while  the  soft  airs  and  sweet  sounds  and 
odors  of  the  late  summer  came  through  the  open 
doors,  and  lingering  so  long  that  it  was  quite  time 
to  Be  getting  ready  for  the  afternoon  service  when 
they  finally  left  the  table.  There  Eunice  saw  again 
that  elegantly  indolent  figure,  and  met  that  steadfast 
gaze,  and,  not  knowing  that  church  attendance  was 
compulsory,  thought  that  either  Rex  McAllister  must 
be  a  more  devout  man  than  she  had  supposed,  or,  with 
a  little  conscious  flutter,  that  there  must  be  some 
attraction  to  draw  him  to  church  twice  a  day. 

After  the  service,  Mr.  Rogers  walked  home  with 
her,  and  "Willie  Dayton  with  Lucy;  and  when  they 
reached  the  Iron  Gate  the  young  men  proposed  that 
they  should  take  a  little  walk  around  the  campus 
block.  It  was  somewhat  at  variance  with  Eunice's 
Puritan  ideas  to  take  a  walk  for  mere  pleasure  on 
the  Sabbath,  but  Lucy  seemed  to  think  it  all  right, 
and  she  had  a  feeling  that  Mr.  Rogers  was  so  ' '  good ' ' 
he  would  not  propose  anything  wrong;  and  the  air 
had  grown  so  cool  and  fresh,  and  the  late  sun  was 
throwing  long  shadows  over  the  grass,  and  the  walk 
seemed  very  tempting  and  must  be  harmless.  When 
they  came  to  the  turnstile  opposite  South  College 
some  one  proposed  that  they  should  go  inside  and 
show  Miss  Harlowe  the  campus  and  West  College. 
They  walked  up  "Middle  Path"  toward  "Rock 
Steps"  under  magnificent  overarching  lindens  and 
elms,  and  Willie  Dayton  pointed  out  his  room  in 
West  College.  Eunice  looked  up  to  see  it  just  as  Wil 
lie  added : 


SUNDAY  IN  BELLAIRE  105 

"There  is  Rex  at  the  window  now."  And  she 
caught  sight  of  a  moody  figure  leaning  out  and  look 
ing  off  toward  the  setting  sun  in  an  abstracted  fash 
ion,  while  in  one  hand  he  held  a  smoking  cigar. 

Eunice  did  not  absolutely  believe  it  was  wicked  to 
smoke,  but  she  had  grown  up  with  a  horror  of  the 
habit.  There  were  no  smokers  in  her  family  or  im 
mediate  friends,  and  smoking  on  Sunday  did  seem 
to  her  to  be  pretty  nearly  wicked,  but  there  was  some 
thing  desolate  in  the  pose  of  the  figure  at  the  window 
—as  no  doubt  Rex  intended  there  should  be — and  it 
struck  a  little  chord  of  pity  in  Eunice's  heart,  and 
went  far  toward  condoning  the  sin  of  the  cigar. 

At  the  Rock  Steps  they  met  Dr.  Charlton,  with  the 
boys  and  Millicent,  out  for  a  walk  also,  and  they  all 
walked  back  together  in  the  friendliest  fashion,  just 
as  if  he  were  not  the  learned  president  of  whom  the 
students  stood  in  great  awe.  At  the  little  gate  in  the 
hedge  the  two  young  men  stopped  to  take  their  leave, 
and  arranged  to  call  in  the  evening  to  take  Eunice 
and  Lucy  to  one  of  the  "down-town"  churches. 

But  when  they  returned  at  seven  o'clock,  they 
found  the  whole  family  gathered  around  the  little 
melodeon.  The  doctor  was  a  passionate  lover  of 
music,  and  had  a  deep,  rich  bass  voice  powerful 
enough  to  make  one  wonder  where  it  could  find  lodg 
ment  in  his  slight  frame;  and  the  clear  treble  of  the 
boys,  Millicent 's  small  alto,  Willie  Dayton's  rather 
light  tenor,  Mr.  Rogers 's  fine  baritone,  and  the  so 
prano  of  the  three  ladies  made  a  pleasant  ensemble. 
There  was  little  regular  Sunday-school  music  in  those 


106  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

days,  but  such  as  there  was  they  sang  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  boys,  and  then  they  valiantly  attacked  the  most 
difficult  fugue  music  or  the  most  intricate  harmonies 
they  could  find  in  the  old  "Lute"  for  the  gratifica 
tion  of  the  doctor's  musical  tastes.  When  they  had 
sung  themselves  hoarse,  which  was  not  until  long  after 
Mrs.  Charlton  had  captured  and  convoyed  to  bed  the 
younger  members  of  the  family,  they  spent  the  rest 
of  the  evening  in  pleasant  talk,  in  which  the  doctor 
led  in  his  friendly  fashion,  until  Mrs.  Charlton,  com 
ing  in  from  her  siege  with  the  children  and  bearing 
in  her  hands  a  big  dish  of  fruit,  captured  the  talk  and 
the  young  people  together. 

Willie  Dayton,  who  knew  the  family  customs  and 
had  kept  a  furtive  watch  on  the  clock,  promptly  at 
quarter  to  ten  rose  to  go,  and  of  course  took  Mr. 
Rogers  away  with  him. 

Outside,  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  leading  up  to  his 
room,  Mr.  Rogers  stopped  to  say  good  night,  but  first 
he  said  in  his  grave  way : 

"I  think,  Mr.  Dayton,  Miss  Harlowe  is  going  to 
prove  quite  an  acquisition;  she  '11  be  a  great  help  in 
the  choir,  and  she  's  a  very  charming  young  woman." 

Willie 's  head  was  in  a  whirl,  as  it  always  was  after 
an  evening  spent  with  Lucy,  and  he  answered  ab 
sent-mindedly  : 

"Yes,  a  little  stiff  and  queer,  but  she  '11  do  all 
right."  And  not  until  he  wondered  at  Mr.  Rogers 's 
abrupt  good  night  did  he  realize  what  he  had  been 
laying.  He  called  up  the  steps  quickly  to  the  rapidly 
retreating  back : 

"Oh,  say,  Rogers,  I  did  n't  mean  that,  you  know; 


SUNDAY  IN  BELLATRE  107 

I  must  have  been  asleep.  I  really  think  she  's  a 
mighty  sweet  young  lady." 

Lucy  stopped  in  Eunice's  room  for  a  little  talk, 
as  usual,  and  Eunice  asked  her  three  questions,  which 
she  answered  in  due  order. 

The  first  one  was:  ''Do  you  always  have  such 
pleasant  Sundays  as  this?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Lucy;  "I  think  Sunday  is  the  nicest 
day  in  the  week,  don't  you?  I  am  always  looking 
forward  to  it." 

Eunice  did  not  feel  obliged  to  answer,  but  went  on 
to  her  second  question:  "Is  Mr.  Rogers  studying  for 
the  ministry?" 

' '  Oh,  no ;  what  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"I  suppose  it  is  because  he  seems  so  grave  and 
dignified,  not  at  all  like  Mr.  Dayton  and  Mr.  McAl 
lister." 

"  He  is  good  enough  to  be  a  minister,  I  should 
think,"  said  Lucy;  "but  he  is  going  to  study  law,  I 
believe.  I  don 't  know  why  he  is  so  different  from  the 
others,  unless  it  is  because  he  is  a  Pennsylvanian  and 
they  are  Southerners." 

Eunice  asked  her  last  question  with  a  little  hesita 
tion:  "Which  do  you  like  the  better,  Mr.  Rogers  or 
Mr.  McAllister?" 

"Oh,  Cousin  Rex,  of  course;  I  know  him  so  much 
better,"  and  then,  bethinking  herself  that  Mr.  Rogers 
had  been  showing  himself  quite  interested  in  Eunice, 
she  added  quickly  : 

"But  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Rogers  is  far  the  finer 
man  of  the  two." 

And  then  Eunice  had  no  more  questions  to  ask. 


CHAPTER   IX 

A  SUGGESTION 

WILLIE  DAYTON  flung  open  the  door  of  the 
room  in  West  College,  tossed  his  hat  on  the  bed, 
and  sang  out:  "Hello!  Rex,  been  in  all  the  evening? 
We  missed  you  at  the  doctor's,  but  I  thought  likely 
you  were  at  Miss  Lydia's." 

"I  was  for  a  while,"  answered  Rex,  coldly;  and 
then  added  after  a  minute,  "I  can't  see  what  the 
deuce  Miss  Lydia  finds  in  that  puppy  Watson !  She 
keeps  him  dangling  at  her  heels  just  because  she  likes 
to  have  a  uniform  around,  I  believe. ' ' 

Rex  had  taken  off  his  long,  sweeping  broadcloth 
coat,  and  hung  it  carefully  up  on  a  little  contrivance 
of  his  own  for  keeping  it  in  shape.  He  had  also  re 
moved  his  tightly  fitting  boots,  and  was  now  comfort 
ably  arrayed  in  a  study-gown  of  cashmere  in  soft 
browns  and  reds,  while  his  feet  were  incased  in  black 
broadcloth  slippers  heavily  embroidered  in  chenille, 
doubtless  the  gift  of  some  Southern  sweetheart.  The 
feet  and  the  slippers  were  resting  comfortably  on  the 
square  table  that  occupied  the  center  of  the  room, 
in  close  proximity  to  a  Greek  lexicon,  Paley's  "Evi 
dences,"  Butler's  "Analogy,"  a  box  half  full  of 

108 


A  SUGGESTION  109 

cigars,  and  a  disorderly  collection  of  papers.  His 
position  gave  a  luxurious  angle  to  the  big  splint- 
bottomed  chair  he  was  sitting  in,  and  on  the  broad 
tablet  affixed  to  its  right  arm  lay  a  yellow-backed 
novel— one  of  Balzac's,  untranslated,  for  Rex  particu 
larly  affected  the  French.  In  his  hand  he  held  a 
cigar,  of  course,  but  he  was  only  smoking  sufficiently 
to  keep  it  alive. 

Willie  had  not  answered  Ilex's  last  remark.  He 
perceived  at  once,  from  his  tone  and  his  lowering 
brow,  that  he  was  in  a  very  bad  humor,  and  he  knew 
from  experience  that  the  wisest  course  at  such  times 
was  to  let  his  cousin  alone.  He  proceeded  therefore 
to  divest  himself  of  his  ' '  good  clothes ' '  and  make  him 
self  comfortable  after  Rex's  fashion,  whistling  dili 
gently  the  while  as  a  gentle  intimation  that  conver 
sation  was  entirely  unnecessary.  Willie  himself  was 
in  the  state  of  exaltation  in  which  an  evening  spent 
in  Lucy's  presence  usually  left  him;  unless,  as  occa 
sionally  happened,  she  had  been  pointedly  unkind 
and  left  him  proportionately  depressed. 

He  was  a  sweet-tempered,  honest,  generous-hearted 
young  fellow,  a  South  Carolinian  also,  and  Rex's 
cousin,  but  as  unlike  him  as  possible  in  temper  and 
in  personal  attractions,  Willie  himself  would  have 
said  and  Rex  would  have  thought.  He  was  several 
years  Rex's  junior,  and  not  particularly  brilliant  in 
tellectually;  but  by  dint  of  faithful  work  he  main 
tained  a  fair  standing  as  a  Sophomore,  while  Rex, 
who  might  easily  have  led  his  class,  through  indolence 
and  indifference  stood  a  fair  chance  of  being  its 


110  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"flag-bearer,"  as  the  man  who  brought  up  the  rear 
was  called  in  those  days.  Willie  was  shorter  than  Rex, 
and  of  a  sturdier  build,  with  light-brown  curls  and 
honest  blue  eyes  and  pleasant,  courteous  ways  that 
made  him  a  general  favorite  in  his  circle  of  friends, 
but  did  not  constitute  him  a  lady-killer,  as  his  cousin 
liked  to  be  considered.  Willie  himself  had  no  ambi 
tions  in  that  direction.  He  liked  all  the  young  ladies, 
and  was  indeed  of  that  Southern  temperament  so  sus 
ceptible  to  feminine  charms  that  he  would  always 
be  sure  of  being  "in  love,"  as  he  called  it,  but  never 
with  more  than  one  at  a  time,  and  very  honestly  and 
desperately  for  the  time. 

It  was  Lucy  Charlton  's  golden  curls  and  sweet  blue 
eyes  and  dainty  ways  that  held  him  captive  now. 
But  Lucy  had  many  admirers  and  was  withal  a  little 
of  a  coquette ;  and  while  she  liked  Willie  and  had  ad 
mitted  him  to  the  relation  of  cousinship,  which  meant 
both  a  great  deal  and  nothing  at  all,  she  was  sometimes 
annoyed  by  his  slow  ways  and  inclined  to  look  down 
upon  him  a  little  disdainfully. 

He  sat  down  now  to  the  table  and  began  writing, 
while  Rex  watched  him  for  a  few  minutes  impatiently. 
He  was  secretly  dying  to  hear  some  account  of  the 
"little  school-ma'am,"  though  he  was  not  willing  to 
betray  his  curiosity  to  his  cousin. 

"Oh,  come,  Billy,"  he  said  at  last,  "don't  bother 
with  letters  to-night;  I  have  n't  had  a  soul  to  speak 
to  all  day,  and  I  am  dead  tired  of  myself. ' ' 

Willie  turned  quickly,  for  this  was  a  more  amiable 
address  than  his  cousin's  former  manner  had  led  him 
to  expect. 


A  SUGGESTION  111 

"Well,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "whose  fault  is  it? 
Why  did  n't  you  come  over  to  the  doctor's  this  even 
ing?  Mrs.  Charlton  asked  for  you.  You  know  you 
always  like  to  talk  to  her." 

Rex  listened  with  a  slight  curl  of  his  short  upper 
lip.  "You  know  very  well  I  could  n't  go  there  after 
having  been  as  good  as  slapped  in  the  face  by  that 
priggish  little  Yankee  school-ma  'arn.  By  Jove,  I  wish 
she  was  a  man,  and  I  could  call  her  out!  I  would 
like  to  show  her  that  a  Southern  gentleman  is  not  to 
be  insulted  with  impunity." 

There  was  an  access  of  fury  with  his  last  words, 
and  Willie  hastened  to  speak  soothingly.  "I  know; 
it  '&  too  bad.  Do  you  know,  I  don't  believe  she  knew 
she  was  insulting  you.  Those  New  Englanders  have 
queer  ways,  you  know;  and  I  fancy  she  was  more 
than  likely  trying  not  to  appear  too  much  interested." 
Then  he  added  cunningly,  "You  know  yourself  what 
a  heart-smasher  you  are,  and  it  's  likely  she  had  never 
met  your  sort  before  and  was  afraid  of  you. ' ' 

Willie  was  working  on  sure  ground  when  he  was 
working  on  Rex's  vanity.  He  knew  it  and  was  a  lit 
tle  ashamed  of  himself  for  stooping  to  such  means; 
but  he  hated  a  fuss,  especially  where  his  friends  the 
Charltons  were  concerned,  and  he  was  determined  to 
heal  the  breach,  if  possible.  Rex  had  comforted  him* 
self  with  the  same  explanation,  but  it  was  soothing 
to  his  vanity  to  hear  it  offered  by  Willie  also,  al 
though  he  only  ejaculated,  "Nonsense!"  But  Willie 
had  seen  the  scornful  curl  of  the  lip  give  way  to  a  half- 
smile  of  conscious  power,  which  Rex  had  not  been 
entirely  able  to  suppress,  and  he  went  om 


112  IN  OLD  BELLAIBE 

"It  struck  me  several  times  to-day  that  she  was 
sorry,  and  would  be  glad  of  a  chance  to  apologize. 
Suppose  you  give  her  the  chance  and  see." 

Rex  was  quite  sure  those  timid  glances  had  al 
ready  dumbly  entreated  his  forgiveness,  and  there 
was  only  wanting  an  opportunity  to  have  it  expressed 
in  words.  There  was  nothing  he  would  enjoy  more 
than  to  have  a  scornful  young  lady  humbly  beseech 
ing  his  forgiveness,  and  he  had  been  dreaming  all 
day  of  the  exquisite  pleasure  he  should  take  in  her 
apology,  and  had  quite  carefully  rehearsed  in  his 
mind  the  exact  manner  in  which  he  should  receive  it. 
There  should  be  magnanimity  and  haughty  courtesy 
mingled  with  cold  reserve  and  the  air  of  having  re 
ceived  a  wound  so  deep  that  the  scars  could  never  be 
obliterated.  Then  he  intended  gradually  to  thaw  a 
little,  but  still  to  treat  her  with  such  stately  courtesy 
that  she  should  see  that  though  as  a  gentleman  he  must 
needs  accept  her  apology,  as  a  man  he  could  not  quite 
forget  what  he  had  suffered  at  her  hands.  He  was  in 
a  hurry  also  to  begin  on  that  line  of  revenge  that  he 
had  hastily  planned  the  night  before  and  had  been 
brooding  over  all  day  with  no  idea  of  relenting  because 
of  the  timid,  regretful  glances  he  had  received.  They 
had  mollified  his  wrath,  to  be  sure;  but  the  sense  of 
personal  affront  remained,  and  he  was  quite  fascinated 
also  by  the  idea  of  the  amusement  as  well  as  triumph 
he  would  get  out  of  it.  He  was  perfectly  sure,  there 
fore,  that  only  the  opportunity  was  wanting  for  the 
apology,  but  the  question  was  how  to  make  the  oppor 
tunity.  He  could  not,  of  course,  call  on  her,  or  seek 


A  SUGGESTION  113 

her  in  any  way,  until  the  apology  had  been  made,  and 
he  hardly  hoped  that  she  would  dare  to  make  the  op 
portunity.  He  was  a  little  afraid  that  she  might  write 
him  about  it,  and  he  did  not  desire  that.  It  would 
be  so  difficult  to  express  in  writing  all  those  delicate 
and  complex  emotions  that  he  intended  to  express 
when  he  received  her  apology,  and  his  triumph  would 
lose  much  of  its  sweetness  if  he  could  not  see  her 
trembling  and  blushing  embarrassment — if  he  could 
not,  metaphorically,  raise  her  from  her  knees  and 
gradually  soothe  her  perturbations. 

So  he  answered  Willie 's  last  suggestion  impatiently : 
"How  the  deuce  can  I  make  an  opportunity?  Shall  I 
go  over  and  call,  and  beg  her  to  beg  my  pardon?" 

Willie  smiled.    "Of  course  not;  but  you  might—" 

But  Rex  interrupted  him :  ' '  Not  that  I  care  a  pica 
yune  whether  the  little  Yankee  ever  begs  my  pardon 
or  not ;  but  you  can  see  for  yourself  it  's  going  to  make 
it  deucedly  uncomfortable  about  my  ever  going  to 
the  Charltons'  as  long  as  she  is  there — and  I  suppose 
she  is  a  fixture." 

"Yes,"  said  Willie,  eagerly;  "that  's  just  it.  You 
don't  want  to  break  with  the  Charltons;  they  think 
a  sight  of  you,  and  they  are  such  good  friends  to  us 
both.  Don 't  you  think,  considering  the  circumstances, 
you  might  write  her  a  little  note  and  ask  for  an  ex 
planation?  You  can  be  entirely  on  your  dignity, 
you  know.  Say  you  think  you  have  a  right,  as  a 
gentleman,  to  ask  from  her,  as  a  lady,  some  explana 
tion  of  her  treatment  of  you  the  other  evening." 

Willie's  suggestion  struck  Rex  as  a  very  good  solu- 


114  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

tion  of  the  difficulty,  except  that  it  might  result  in 
the  written  apology  that  he  did  not  want.  But  his 
quick  mind  saw  a  way  to  prevent  that,  and  he  decided 
at  once  to  adopt  Willie's  plan,  though  he  answered 
him  with  an  assumption  of  indifference. 

"All  right,  I  will  think  over  your  suggestion,  Wil 
lie.  Of  course  I  will  be  glad  to  have  it  all  square 
with  the  Charltons  again,  for  your  sake  and  my 
own. ' ' 

He  rekindled  his  cigar,  which  had  quite  gone  out, 
and  picked  up  "La  Cousine  Bette, "  in  whose  pages 
he  appeared  to  be  buried  while  Willie  turned  again 
to  his  letters. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  FACULTY  TEA 

EUNICE  found  her  first  morning  in  school  a  try 
ing  one.  There  were  the  new  pupils  to  meet  and, 
what  was  much  more  embarrassing,  the  mothers  of 
most  of  them,  who  had  accompanied  their  children 
to  see  the  new  teacher.  Then,  when  the  formalities 
of  the  opening  were  over,  there  was  the  classifying 
and  arranging  the  studies  of  each  individual  pupil; 
fatiguing  work,  demanding  the  patience  of  Job  and 
the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  Eunice  thought. 

Bat  it  was  over  at  last ;  and  at  a  quarter  past  twelve 
Eunice  had  on  her  little  bonnet,  and  had  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  her  first 
and  most  trying  day  was  ended.  Partly  from  the 
heat,  to  which  she  was  unaccustomed,  and  partly  from 
fatigue  and  excitement,  her  head  was  aching  badly, 
and  she  found  it  difficult  to  remain  at  table  through 
the  noon-day  dinner  with  its  pleasant  air  of  excite 
ment,  as  the  children  eagerly  recounted  the  events  of 
the  first  morning  at  school.  She  had  been  able  to 
eat  but  little,  greatly  to  Mrs.  Charlton's  concern, 
which  found  voice  when  Eunice  asked  to  be  excused 
from  dessert. 

115 


116  IN  OLD  BELLA1RE 

"You  poor  child!"  she  said  anxiously,  "you  are 
all  tired  out!  Yes,  go  to  your  room  and  lie  down, 
and  I  will  keep  every  one  away  from  you  this  after 
noon. " 

In  her  own  room  the  cool  green  light,  sifting  through 
the  branches  of  the  linden  and  through  the  bowed  shut 
ters,  was  grateful  to  her  aching  eyes.  When  she  first 
lay  down,  a  throng  of  feverish  thoughts  went  troop 
ing  through  her  brain,  of  everything  that  had  hap 
pened  in  these  few  days;  but  gradually  they  all 
slipped  away  but  the  one  grateful  thought  of  every 
one's  kindness.  She  fell  asleep  thinking  of  Mrs. 
Charlton  's  grace  and  beauty  and  vivacity,  which  made 
her  the  most  charming  woman  she  had  ever  known, 
and  of  dear  Dr.  Charlton,  for  whom,  with  his 
scholarly  ways,  his  kindly  humor  and  old-fash 
ioned  gallantry,  she  had  begun  to  feel  a  romantic 
veneration. 

She  had  slept  an  hour  or  two  when  she  was  awakened 
by  a  soft  knock.  She  sprang  up,  went  to  the  door, 
and  opened  it.  It  was  Lucy. 

"I  hope  I  did  not  wake  you,"  she  said.  "Here  is 
'  Judge '  with  a  note  for  you,  and  he  refuses  to  deliver 
it  to  any  one  but  you." 

Behind  Lucy  stood  "Judge,"  bowing  and  scraping 
and  politely  grinning: 

"Yes,  miss,  Marse  Mac  'low  I  was  to  gib  de  note 
to  Miss  hehse'f,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  her  a  tiny 
white  envelop,  sealed. 

"Oh,  it  is  from  Mr.  McAllister,"  said  Lucy,  smil 
ing;  "he  sent  me  an  invitation  to  a  concert  once,  and 


A  FACULTY  TEA  117 

'Judge'  gave  it  to  Charles  Cook,  junior,  who  forgot 
all  about  it,  of  course,  and  I  never  received  it.  I  sup 
pose  he  was  afraid  of  the  same  fate  for  this  one  un 
less  'Judge'  delivered  it  into  your  own  hands." 
Lucy  spoke  to  Eunice  By  way  of  explanation,  but 
"Judge"  answered  her  gravely: 

"Yes,  miss,  dat  's  it;  Marse  Mac  'low  I  gib  it  to 
nobody  else,  'cep'in'  de  young  lady." 

Eunice  stood  looking  at  the  note  in  her  hand,  half 
frightened,  half  pleased ;  she  could  not  remember  that 
ever  in  her  life  before  she  had  received  a  note  from 
a  young  gentleman,  but  she  had  reason  to  be  a  little 
afraid  of  this  one. 

"Will  you  come  in,  Lucy,  while  I  read  it?"  she 
said. 

"Are  you  to  wait  for  an  answer,  'Judge'?"  asked 
Lucy,  turning  to  him. 

"Yes,  miss,  Marse  Mac  'lowed  I  mought  git  one," 
returned  "Judge,"  with  a  succession  of  bendings 
and  pullings  of  his  forelock  without  which  utterance 
seemed  impossible  to  him. 

"Very  well,  then,  you  can  wait  in  the  hall,"  said 
Lucy,  going  into  Eunice 's  room  and  closing  the  door. 

Eunice  had  already  broken  the  seal,  and  was  reading 
with  flushed  cheeks : 

"Mr.  McAllister  presents  his  compliments  to  Miss  Harlowe, 
and  would  beg  to  say  that  he  feels  an  explanation  due  him  for 
Miss  Harlowe's  action  of  Saturday  night.  If  Miss  Harlowe  will 
permit,  he  will  do  himself  the  honor  of  calling  this  evening  to 
hear  from  her  personally  of  what  offense  he  has  been  guilty  to 
call  forth  so  marked  a  token  of  her  displeasure." 


118  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Eunice  read  it  over  twice,  the  crimson  spot  in 
either  cheek  growing  deeper  as  she  read;  then  she 
handed  it  to  Lucy  and  said : 

"I  wish  you  would  read  it,  Lucy,  and  tell  me  what 
I  must  do.  Don 't  you  think  it  would  be  better  to  write 
my  apology?  He  has  given  me  the  opportunity,  I 
think,  by  his  note. ' ' 

Lucy  read  it  also  carefully;  then  she  said  slowly, 
and  with  no  idea  that  she  was  innocently  playing  into 
Rex's  hand: 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  would.  You  see,  he  particu 
larly  requests  a  personal  explanation,  and  unless  you 
have  some  well-defined  excuse,  it  is  easier  to  make 
things  clear  and  all  right  again  by  talking  them  over. 
It  is  so  easy  to  be  misunderstood  in  writing." 

"Yes,"  said  Eunice;  "but  it  is  because  I  have  n't 
any  excuse — only  an  apology — that  I  thought  I  would 
rather  write ;  but  perhaps  it  will  be  better  to  see  him." 

She  went  to  her  writing-table,  got  out  some  paper 
from  the  drawer,  and  took  up  her  pen : 

"What  shall  I  say?  I  really  don't  know  how  to 
write  it." 

Notes  were  of  small  moment  to  Lucy;  she  had  any 
number  of  them  neatly  piled  away  in  her  little  desk : 
invitations  for  concerts,  for  lectures,  for  driving- 
parties  to  the  mountains  or  the  springs,  for  walks 
to  the  barracks  or  the  cave,  for  Sunday-evening 
church,  for  Wednesday-evening  prayer-meeting  or 
Saturday-evening  choir  rehearsal — all  of  which  were 
included  in  the  list  of  Bellaire  gaieties.  So  she  an 
swered  lightly : 


A  FACULTY  TEA  119 

"Oh,  I  would  make  it  as  brief  and  formal  as  pos 
sible.  'Miss  Harlowe's  compliments  to  Mr.  McAllister, 
and  would  be  happy  to  see  him  this  evening.'  ' 

Eunice  obeyed,  and  the  note  was  written,  sealed, 
and  given  to  ' '  Judge, ' '  patiently  waiting  in  the  hall. 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton  were  spending  the  even 
ing  out  at  a  faculty  tea-party  given  by  the  senior 
professor  in  West  College. 

I  wonder  if  anywhere  in  the  world  in  these  days 
of  form  and  fashion  and  late  dinners  people  get  to 
gether  and  have  such  good  times  as  they  used  to  at 
those  old  faculty  tea-parties.  "Tea"  now  is  asso 
ciated  in  our  minds  with  a  crush  and  jam,  light  re 
freshments,  and  lighter  talk,  but  it  meant  some 
thing  very  different  in  those  days.  It  meant  sitting 
down  comfortably  to  a  long  table  covered  with  snowy 
damask  and  shining  with  polished  silver  and  glass 
and  dainty  china.  There  was  sure  to  be  a  noble 
platter  of  fried  chicken  at  one  end  of  the  table — if 
it  were  the  season  when  chickens  were  young  enough 
to  fry;  not  broiled,  but  cooked  as  only  the  good  old 
darky  cooks  of  our  youth  could  cook  them:  fried  to 
a  crisp  golden  brown,  and  covered  with  an  unctuous 
cream  gravy  of  the  same  color.  If  it  was  not  possible 
to  find  sufficiently  young  chicken  for  the  piece  de  re 
sistance,  the  same  noble  platter  was  filled  with  fried 
oysters,  golden  brown  also,  and  hot  and  tender  and 
not  greasy,  and  the  oysters  flanked  by  a  beautifully 
decorated  dish  of  chicken-salad,  made  after  the  recipe 
of  Professor  Tiffin  himself,  the  epicure  of  the  faculty 


120  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

— "little  vinegar  and  less  mustard;  much  cayenne 
pepper  and  more  oil."  And  whether  chicken  or 
oysters  were  in  the  platter,  there  were  always  waffles, 
so  light  and  crisp  that  the  most  sensitive  dyspeptic 
need  not  fear  them,  with  bowls  of  mixed  cinnamon 
and  sugar  to  eat  with  them  for  those  who  liked  it ;  and 
there  was  also,  always,  hot  Maryland  biscuit,  snowy 
with  just  a  delicate  tinge  of  the  necessary  brown, 
and  innocent  of  soda  or  yeast  powder  or  any  other 
death-dealing  drug;  and  of  course  there  were  won 
derfully  concocted  pickles,  and  shaking  jellies  glow 
ing  like  rubies,  and  rich  preserves ;  and  for  the  second 
course  a  little  very  nice  cake  and  such  fruit  as  hap 
pened  to  be  in  season,  from  scarlet  strawberries  to 
luscious  peaches,  served  with  thick  yellow  cream- 
though  the  second  course  was  of  little  moment  in  the 
mind  of  a  good  Bellaire  housekeeper  compared  with 
the  substantials.  And  to  crown  the  feast  there  was 
always  coffee,  hot  and  clear  and  strong  enough,  with 
the  exquisite  flavor  of  the  Mocha  easily  distinguish 
able,  and  rich  with  cream.  Indeed,  the  coffee  was  a 
test  of  any  Bellaire  tea-party,  and  the  anxious  hostess 
never  felt  that  her  supper  was  a  complete  success  until 
the  gentlemen,  and  even  some  of  the  ladies,  began  to 
send  up  for  a  second  cup  of  her  ' '  delicious  coffee. ' ' 

But  there  was  no  lack  of  a  finer  kind  of  entertain 
ment  also  at  these  teas.  The  creature  comforts,  far 
from  deadening  the  intellect,  seemed  to  stimulate  the 
flow  of  wit  and  reason.  There  might  possibly  be  a 
little  formality  and  dullness  while  the  company  were 
gathering  in  the  "front  parlor,"  and  the  ladies 


A  FACULTY  TEA  121 

were  all  more  or  less  in  sympathy  with  the  hostess's 
anxiety  in  the  critical  moments  preceding  supper, 
and  the  husbands  were  insensibly  sensitive  to  the 
mood  of  their  wives.  But  from  the  moment  they 
were  all  seated  at  the  table,  husbands  scrupulously 
separated  from  wives— from  that  moment  until  ten 
o'clock,  when,  exact  almost  to  the  minute,  they 
said  good  night,  there  was  a  constant  ripple  of  gentle 
hilarity. 

Professor  Tiffin  was  host  this  evening,  and  he 
readily  proved  himself,  not  an  epicure  only,  but  also 
a  most  polished  man  of  the  world,  who  could  dis 
course  delightfully  on  the  latest  literature  or  the 
society  news  from  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia,  the 
centers  of  fashion  for  Bellaire.  Opposite  him  at  the 
head  of  the  table  sat  Mrs.  Tiffin,  a  pale,  aristocratic- 
looking  blonde,  who  bore  the  enviable  reputation  of 
being  able  to  cook  a  dinner  or  entertain  a  parlorful 
of  guests  with  equal  ease  and  skill.  And  there  were 
Professor  Fieldman  and  his  wife,  two  jovial  souls 
who  for  months  had  been  keeping  up  a  running 
wager  as  to  who  should  tell  the  most  and  the  best 
stories.  And  there  was  the  bachelor  professor,  a  big, 
fine-looking  man  well  up  in  his  forties,  with  a  mag 
nificent  head  covered  with  Jove-like  curls.  He  had 
a  beautiful  old  lady  for  a  mother,  and  two  bright  and 
handsome  sisters ;  and  it  was  for  their  sakes,  no  doubt, 
that  he  had  never  married,  though  he  seemed  to  en 
joy  his  single  estate  and  the  freedom  it  gave  him  to 
worship  moderately  at  many  shrines,  and  to  display 
to  untrammeled  advantage  his  two  talents— for  he  was 


122  IN  OLD  BELLAiRE 

an  accomplished  musician,  and  even  more  accom 
plished  in  conversation. 

Perhaps  conversation  is  not  quite  the  right  word 
to  apply  to  Professor  Haywood's  brilliant  monologues. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  their  brilliance :  they  were 
well  worth  listening  to,  scintillating  with  wit,  studded 
with  epigram,  flashing  on  every  subject  in  the  wide 
range  of  literature  and  philosophy ;  but  sometimes,  if 
you  liked  to  talk  yourself,  you  found  them  just  a 
little  tiresome.  There  had  been  rumors  that  if  Miss 
Lydia  McNair,  who  was  an  heiress  in  her  own  right, 
would  have  looked  kindly  on  him,  he  would  have 
gracefully  submitted  to  matrimonial  bonds;  but  we 
never  knew  certainly,  for  Miss  Lydia  kept  her  own 
counsel  in  such  matters,  and  the  professor  was  not 
likely  to  publish  his  defeats.  Certain  it  is  that  they 
were  still  on  terms  of  amity,  and  although  he  no  longer 
haunted  the  McNair  parlors  as  he  had  once  done, 
he  went  there  at  intervals,  and  it  was  reported  that 
she  treated  him  with  as  much  nonchalance  as  she  did 
any  of  her  younger  Beaux,  and  had  been  known  more 
than  once  to  interrupt  his  most  brilliant  flight  with  a 
saucy,  "Now,  professor,  you  rest  awhile  and  let  me 
talk." 

Then  there  were  the  professor's  two  charming  sis 
ters,  always,  of  course,  included  in  faculty  parties. 
Miss  Kate  was  a  dashing  brunette,  bright-eyed  and 
rosy-cheeked,  with  all  the  wit  of  her  brother,  but  so 
toned  down  by  the  feminine  desire  to  please  and  kept 
in  bounds  by  feminine  intuition,  that  warned  her  at 
once  if  she  were  in  danger  of  becoming  a  bore,  that 


A  FACULTY  TEA  123 

she  was  as  fascinating  as  she  was  beautiful.  I  re 
member  as  a  child  we  used  to  sing  a  song  beginning, 
"Miss  Kate  was  once  a  laughing  girl,  Eyes  of  jet  and 
teeth  of  pearl,"  and  I  never  for  a  moment  doubted 
that  the  song  referred  to  beautiful  Miss  Kate  Hay- 
wood.  Her  sister,  Meta,  was  of  a  more  stately  type: 
fair  and  large,  with  dignified  composure  of  manner. 
She  had  a  way  of  listening  with  such  sympathy  and 
apparent  comprehension  as  to  give  the  impression 
that  she  had  herself  been  talking  most  learnedly  or 
wittily,  as  the  case  might  be.  I  never  remember  to 
have  heard  her  utter  more  than  the  most  ordinary 
commonplaces,  but  the  tone  of  their  utterance  was 
always  so  well  chosen  and  they  were  delivered  with 
such  an  air  that  I  do  not  think  that  at  the  time  they 
impressed  me  as  commonplace  at  all.  It  was  this 
talent  of  hers  as  a  sympathetic  listener  that  had,  no 
doubt,  won  for  her  the  reputation  of  being  quite  a 
Madame  de  Stael  in  learning  and  wit. 

There  was  another  bachelor  professor  in  the 
faculty :  a  Johnsonian  style  of  man,  big  and  ungainly 
of  person,  pompous  and  uncouth  of  manner,  but  of  un 
doubted  learning  and  ability.  It  seemed  to  be  always 
Miss  Meta's  lot  to  sit  next  him  at  the  faculty  teas, 
and  by  a  judicious  use  of  her  eyes  and  pretty  smile, 
and  a  proper  distribution  of  ''Noes,"  "Yesses,"  and 
' '  Indeeds ! ' ',  she  produced  such  an  impression  on  the 
honest  and  impressionable  heart  of  the  awkward 
scholar  that  he  invariably  found  an  opportunity  later 
in  the  evening  to  say  to  one  or  two  of  the  married 
members  of  the  faculty,  "I  find  Miss  Meta  a  most 


124  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

charming  young  lady.  Does  it  ever  strike  you  that 
she  is— ah— in  fact— erudite  f";  and  the  professor  in 
whom  he  happened  to  repose  this  confidence  as  in 
variably  responded  with  some  jocose  suggestion  that 
it  was  time  for  him  to  be  thinking  seriously  of  giving 
up  his  bachelor  freedom  and  making  some  charming 
woman  happy  by  joining  the  ranks  of  the  Benedicts, 
—which  suggestion  the  professor  always  received  seri 
ously,  though  somewhat  sheepishly,  and  promised  to 
think  of  it.  As  nothing  ever  came  of  these  periodical 
seizures,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  the  next  morning, 
in  his  comfortable  study,  surrounded  by  his  beloved 
books,  the  vision  of  the  fair  charmer  faded  until  the 
next  faculty  tea. 

But  any  description  of  any  kind  of  faculty  party 
would  be  very  incomplete  without  a  mention  of  the 
two  Misses  Perkins.  They  did  not  properly  belong 
to  the  faculty  by  any  consanguineous  connection  with 
that  charmed  circle ;  but  no  faculty  dame  would  have 
dared  to  give  a  function,  however  small  and  informal, 
without  including  them  in  the  list  of  invitations. 
Two  splendid  New  England  women,  born  in  another 
century,  and  belonging  even  in  my  childhood  to  a  fast 
passing  generation;  of  an  imposing  presence  and  an 
elegance  and  propriety  of  manner  that  would  have  en 
abled  a  discriminating  stranger  to  have  conjectured 
at  once  that  they  were  at  the  head  of  a  young  ladies' 
boarding-school.  The  educating  and  polishing  of 
young  ladies  had  been  their  life-work,  and  from  Maine 
to  Georgia  they  were  widely  known  as  elegant  women 
and  distinguished  educators. 


A  FACULTY  TEA  125 

Miss  Caroline  rather  overshadowed  her  younger 
sister,  Miss  Phoabe;  for  Miss  Phoebe,  by  virtue  of 
being  the  younger,  had  come  to  be  regarded  both  by 
herself  and  her  sister  as  perennially  youthful,  and 
cherished  the  modest  and  girlish  graces  they  both 
considered  suitable  to  her.  I  never  believed  that  this 
was  an  intentional  affectation  on  Miss  Phoabe's  part ; 
it  was  the  force  of  long-continued  attitude.  So,  while 
Miss  Caroline  discussed  ably  the  topics  of  the  day 
with  the  men  she  met,  giving  clear-cut  views  on  all 
subjects,  Miss  Phosbe  sat  primly  by  with  folded  hands 
and  an  amiable  smile  of  attention  in  her  faded  blue 
eyes. 

Miss  Caroline  was  broad  of  frame  and  almost  mas 
culine  in  the  effect  of  strength  her  physique  gave. 
Her  eyes  were  gray  and  still  keen,  rarely  needing 
the  assistance  of  glasses,  though  she  never  hesitated 
to  use  them  if  they  seemed  necessary.  She  always  wore 
on  her  hair,  iron-gray  and  her  own,  a  square  of  black- 
thread  lace  with  long  side-tabs  to  which  was  added 
on  party  occasions  a  little  purple  ribbon ;  or  if  the 
party  was  an  unusually  fine  one,  the  purple  was  light 
ened  to  lavender.  Her  dress  was  invariably  of  black 
silk,  stiff  and  shiny,  with  straight  voluminous  skirts, 
finished  at  the  neck  with  a  rather  small  but  rich  lace 
collar  fastened  with  a  cameo  brooch.  In  the  very 
plainness  of  her  dress  she  impressed  one  with  her 
strength  verging  on  masculinity. 

Miss  Phcebe,  on  the  other  hand,  had  all  the  small 
feminine  likings  for  gay  ribbons  and  soft  laces,  and  as 
far  as  possible  she  tried  to  follow  the  prevailing  mode. 


126  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Now  that  hoops  were  in,  she  had  timidly  ventured  on 
a  small  one,  though  she  felt  every  time  it  caught  on 
an  obtrusive  door-scraper— which  was  not  seldom— 
that  she  was  wearing  it  at  the  risk  of  her  life.  Her 
skirts  were  flounced  to  her  waist;  her  sleeves  were 
wide  to  admit  of  pretty  under-sleeves,  and  the  surplus 
opening  of  her  bodices  was  filled  in  with  soft  blond 
or  delicate  lace.  Her  caps,  too,  were  butterfly  crea 
tions,  caught  up  at  irregular  angles  with  tiny  bunches 
of  narrow  pink-satin  ribbons,  and  resting  on  a  false 
front  of  richest  chestnut  hue.  As  for  her  eyes,  they 
had  long  since  lost  their  keenness  of  vision  with  their 
luster,  but  Miss  Phoebe  preferred  all  the  inconve 
nience  and  uncertainty  of  half-blindness  rather  than 
confess  to  glasses. 

Dear  soul !  who  that  has  a  heart  can  find  fault  with 
that  tender  clinging  to  the  romance  of  her  girlhood? 
I  never  heard  that  Miss  Phoebe  had  ever  had  a  lover, 
but  it  is  enough  to  know  that  she  was  once  sixteen 
and  had  all  the  pure,  sweet,  timid  dreams  of  a  pos 
sible  lover  that  are  as  much  a  part  of  those  bright, 
unfolding  years  as  the  fragrance  is  of  the  rose.  And 
it  is  not  impossible  to  realize  it  of  Miss  Phoebe,  in  spite 
of  her  faded  eyes,  the  primly  set  mouth,  the  rigidly 
erect  and  angular  figure  with  no  trace  of  girlish  grace 
remaining.  There  is  a  suggestion  of  it,  like  the  faint 
perfume  that  still  clings  to  withered  rose-petals,  in 
the  modest  folding  of  the  snowy  lace  across  the  maid 
enly  bosom,  and  in  the  rosy  tint  of  the  ribbons  in  her 
cap.  But  my  imagination  refuses  to  conceive  of  Miss 
Caroline  as  ever  having  had  a  girlhood  filled  with 


A  FACULTY  TEA  127 

dream-lovers  or  real  ones.  I  might  easily  fancy  her 
a  boy  playing  at  football  or  "shinny,"  but  a  coy  and 
sensitive  maiden— never ! 

And  now  these  were  the  prominent  members  of  that 
old  faculty  circle  gathered  about  Mrs.  Tiffin's  table 
that  Monday  evening,  including,  of  course,  our  dear 
and  genial  Dr.  Charlton,  without  whom  every  gather 
ing  would  have  lost  its  center  of  sunshine  and  warmth, 
for  that  was  the  effect  of  his  ready  flow  of  kindly 
wit  and  gentle  humor;  and  his  beautiful  wife,  whose 
sparkling  vivacity  and  gracious  ways  charmed  us 
almost  as  much  as  her  radiant  beauty. 

And  this  night  at  Mrs.  Tiffin's  the  little  company 
did  not  Break  up  promptly  at  ten.  It  was  the  first 
social  gathering  of  the  season,  and  they  had  all  the 
long  vacation  experiences  to  compare.  Some  of  them 
had  been  to  the  mountains,  and  some  to  the  sea ;  Pro 
fessor  and  Mrs.  Tiffin  in  Europe;  Professor  Hay- 
wood  at  White  Sulphur  Springs,  where  he  was  sure 
to  meet  the  fashion  and  beauty  of  the  South ;  and  his 
brother  bachelor  professor  buried  in  the  British  Mu 
seum,  delving  among  its  archives  for  material  for  his 
book  that  he  had  been  faithfully  at  work  upon  for 
years. 

And  when  it  was  almost  time  to  be  going  Professor 
Fieldman  challenged  Dr.  Charlton  to  a  game  of  chess, 
and  that  was  one  of  the  good  doctor's  weaknesses  in 
which  he  yet  found  little  time  to  indulge,  and  which 
Mrs.  Charlton  encouraged  as  little  as  she  did  his 
other  weakness  for  punning.  It  seemed  to  her  a 
great  waste  of  time  to  pore  over  a  chess-board  for 


128  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

hours,  when  one  might  be  reading  some  charming 
book  or  enjoying  a  delightful  dish  of  conversation. 

Mrs.  Tiffin,  noting  the  doctor's  wistful  look,  and 
perceiving  that  he  was  about  to  decline,  added  her 
persuasions  to  the  professor's,  and  herself  arranged 
the  little  chess-table  in  a  quiet  corner  where  they  would 
neither  interrupt  the  flow  of  talk  nor  be  disturbed 
by  it.  And  as  the  hour  of  ten  came  and  passed  and 
the  little  circle  saw  their  head  sitting  unmoved  by 
the  cuckoo-chime  that  proclaimed  the  hour,  they  ven 
tured  to  linger  a  little,  too.  But  they  could  not  feel 
perfectly  at  ease  after  that  admonitory  sound,  and 
so  conversation  languished,  and  gradually,  one  by  one, 
the  ladies  withdrew  to  Mrs.  Tiffin's  room  to  put  on 
their  bonnets,  and  the  gentlemen  formed  a  half-circle 
around  the  players  and  silently  watched  the  game. 
And  that  is  one  of  the  essential  differences  between 
men  and  women.  Whoever  saw  a  circle  of  women 
watching  a  game  in  which  they  could  have  no  hand ! 
They  go  to  base-ball  and  to  foot-ball,  but  it  is  not 
the  game  that  attracts  them :  it  is  the  gay  and  eager 
crowds.  As  a  rule,  all  the  daughters  of  Eve  must 
have  their  finger  in  the  pie  or  the  flavor  is  not  to 
their  liking. 

A  rustle  of  skirts  and  a  gentle  murmur  of  voices 
at  length  proclaimed  the  return  of  the  ladies,  and 
Mrs.  Charlton  floated  up  to  the  table  where  her  hus 
band  sat,  his  finger  laid  along  his  nose,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  board,  oblivious  to  everything  else  in 
the  world.  The  game  was  at  a  critical  point,  and, 
almost  to  the  horror  of  the  interested  circle  of  spec- 


A  FACULTY  TEA  129 

tators,   she   laid   her   hand   lightly   on   the   doctor's 
shoulder : 

"My  dear,  do  you  know  it  is  almost  half -past  ten?" 
she  said. 

"Impossible!"  ejaculated  the  doctor,  never  taking 
his  eyes  from  the  board,  nor  in  any  way  moving  a 
muscle  not  required  by  the  act  of  articulation. 

"Yes,  dear,  and  we  must  be  going." 

"Wait  one  moment,  my  love,"  said  the  doctor, 
putting  his  fingers  on  his  king  and  then  venturing  to 
glance  hurriedly  up  at  her. 

The  board  was  clear  of  men,  except  Professor 
Fieldman's  king,  the  doctor's  king,  and  one  knight, 
with  which  he  had  been  vainly  striving  for  a  check 
mate:  Professor  Fieldman's  king  stood  on  his  rook's 
square,  the  doctor's  knight  on  the  bishop's  third,  and 
his  king  on  the  knight's  third;  there  was  no  use  of 
struggling  longer;  the  doctor  moved  his  king  to  the 
bishop's  second  and  proclaimed  a  stalemate  with  quite 
an  air  of  triumph,  for  the  professor  was  a  player  of 
some  repute,  and  kept  in  good  practice  by  his  wife, 
who  was  as  fond  of  chess  as  she  was  of  stories.  Then 
the  doctor  arose,  flushed  with  success,  made  his  courtly 
apology  to  Mrs.  Tiffin  for  keeping  such  late  hours, 
and  said  his  pleasant  "  good  night"  to  every  one  else. 

Half-way  across  the  long  walk  between  West  and 
East  College  they  heard  the  sharp  click  of  the  little 
gate  in  the  hedge,  and  a  little  further  on  they  passed 
some  one  who  took  off  his  hat  and  made  a  low 
bow.  It  was  dark  and  the  doctor  could  not  recog 
nize  him. 


130  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  "that  seems  to  be  some  one 
coming  from  our  house.  Could  you  tell  who  it  was  ? '  * 

"I  think  it  was  Mr.  McAllister,"  she  answered; 
"but  it  seems  to  me  he  has  been  staying  rather  late." 

"Mr.  McAllister ! ' '  said  the  doctor ;  " I  did  not  know 
he  called  on  Lucy;  I  thought  it  was  always  you  he 
came  to  see." 

' '  Oh,  he  calls  on  Lucy  sometimes, ' '  said  Mrs.  Charl- 
ton;  "but  I  fancy  this  time  it  was  not  Lucy,  but 
Eunice. ' ' 

"Ah,  to  be  sure— of  course!"  said  the  doctor. 


CHAPTER   XI 

A  WHITE  ROSE 

IT  had  been  agreed  between  them  that  Lucy  should 
Be  in  the  parlor  with  Eunice  when  Rex  McAllister 
arrived,  as  Eunice  felt  she  would  like  the  support  of 
Lucy's  presence  in  the  first  encounter.  Afterward 
Lucy  was  to  withdraw  on  some  pretext.  So  the  first 
few  minutes  of  McAllister's  call,  save  for  his  distant 
and  ceremonious  greeting  to  Eunice,  were  as  uncon 
strained  and  comfortable  as  possible.  The  pretext 
came  without  any  effort  on  Lucy's  part,  and  rather 
sooner  than  she  had  intended. 

Up-stairs  in  "mother's  room,"  just  over  the  parlor, 
there  arose  a  tremendous  racket.  It  had  been  threat 
ening  for  some  time:  the  noise  of  shrill  singing  min 
gling  with  shouts  and  the  scuffing  of  feet,  and  an  oc 
casional  sound  as  of  a  fall,  shaking  the  ceiling.  But 
now  the  din  waxed  louder.  The  falls  were  frequent 
and  heavy,  making  the  globes  on  the  chandelier  rattle 
and  threatening  destruction  to  the  frail  glass. 

"Oh,  those  boys!"  exclaimed  Lucy.  "Father  and 
mother  are  out,  Cousin  Rex,  and  I  am  mother  of  the 
family.  Will  you  excuse  me  while  I  investigate  this 
disturbance  ? ' ' 

131 


132  IN  OLD  BELLAIBE 

"Certainly,  Cousin  Lucy,"  said  Rex,  promptly; 
"and  call  on  me  if  you  find  you  need  any  assistance." 

The  sights  and  sounds  that  met  Lucy  as  she  opened 
the  door  of  her  mother's  room  might  have  appalled 
her  if  she  had  not  often  encountered  them  before. 
In  the  middle  of  the  room  Henry  Sidney  and  George 
Edgar  were  engaged  in  a  "wrastle,"  and  at  this  mo 
ment  were  rolling  over  on  the  floor  vigorously  pom 
melling  each  other,  while  hanging  over  them,  delight 
beaming  from  every  pore  of  his  shining  black  face, 
was  Charles  Cook,  junior,  who  was  restrained  from 
taking  a  hand  in  the  scrimmage  himself  by  no  respect 
for  color,  but  because,  as  he  would  have  put  it,  ' '  Two 
on  one  's  no  fair. ' '  At  sight  of  Lucy  he  fled  ignomin- 
iously  to  the  lower  regions,  and  the  two  boys  sprang 
to  their  feet,  for  their  wrestling  had  begun  to  be 
tinged  with  earnest,  and,  like  the  two  little  gentlemen 
they  were,  they  were  heartily  ashamed  of  the  temper 
and  quite  ready  to  shake  hands,  while  Lucy  turned 
her  attention  to  the  rest  of  the  din,  which  had  been 
going  uninterruptedly  on  through  the  fracas  of  the 
Big  Boys,  and  its  adjustment. 

In  the  crib,  a  wide  old-fashioned  one  on  rockers 
that  had  soothed  the  slumbers  of  every  baby  in  the 
family  from  Lucy  down,  were  the  four  younger  mem 
bers  of  the  family  and  Cindie.  On  one  side  sat  Charles 
Ernest  and  Cindie,  and  on  the  other  Millie  and 
"Doric,"  as  the  little  four-year-old  was  called,  a 
loving  abbreviation  for  Theodore.  He  would  some 
time  arrive  at  the  distinction  of  being  called  by  his 
full  name,  Theodore  Howard,  but  for  the  present  he 


A  WHITE  ROSE  133 

was  only  "Doric."  The  four  pairs  of  short,  chubby 
legs  were  stuck  through  the  wide  spaces  in  the  railing 
of  the  crib,  and  as  they  rocked  they  were  singing  at 
the  top  of  their  voices,  to  a  monotonous  tune  of  their 
own  composing  pitched  in  a  high  key : 

'*  Bye,  Baby  bunting ; 
Papa  's  gone  a-hunting/'  etc. 

Between  them  lay  little  Baby  Ned,  his  golden  curls 
lying  in  a  tangled  mass  on  the  pillow,  one  little  fist 
doubled  up  under  the  dimpled  chin,  the  long  dark 
lashes  lying  on  the  pink  cheeks,  and  the  dewy  lips 
half  parted.  He  rolled  from  side  to  side  with  the 
violent  rocking,  but  he  seemed  to  be  sleeping,  except 
as  a  more  vigorous  swing  of  the  crib  flung  him  roughly 
against  its  sides,  when  through  the  parted  lips  would 
come  a  sleepy  gurgle  of  laughter  like  the  soft  ripple 
of  a  tiny  brook,  and  the  children,  perceiving  that  he 
was  not  yet  ' '  sound, ' '  would  redouble  their  exertions, 
singing  louder  and  rocking  harder,  as  if  to  compel  the 
attendance  of  the  drowsy  god. 

There  may  be  sceptics  who  will  say  it  is  impossible 
for  any  baby  to  be  soothed  to  sleep  by  such  vigorous 
methods,  but  the  history  of  the  Charlton  babies,  or, 
at  least,  the  four  younger  ones,  goes  to  prove  that 
they  are  sometimes  quite  as  efficacious  as  softer  ways. 

The  combat  of  the  Big  Boys  had  not  at  all  disturbed 
the  singing  or  the  rocking,  except  that  once  or  twice 
Millie's  tender  little  heart  had  been  stirred  with 
anxiety  for  George  Edgar,  whose  cries,  she  was  sure, 


134  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

sounded  as  if  he  were  getting  hurt.  But  four-year-old 
Doric  reassured  her : 

' '  Ho !  that  's  nuffin,  only  fun !  big  boys  always  play 
like  that.  I  will,  too,  when  I  'm  big." 

Now  Lucy  hurried  to  the  cribful  of  children  and 
spoke  to  them  gently. 

"Hush,  children,  you  are  making  too  much  noise. 
Miss  Eunice  has  a  caller  in  the  parlor;  I  don't  know 
what  she  will  think  of  you ! ' ' 

That  name  had  already  begun  to  be  a  talisman  with 
them,  and  they  were  instantly  silent.  Then  perceiving 
that  Baby  Ned,  the  moment  there  had  been  a  cessa 
tion  in  his  stormy  rocking,  had  dropped  off  into  a 
sound  sleep,  Lucy  told  the  children  to  get  out  of  the 
crib  softly,  so  as  not  to  waken  Baby,  sent  Cindie 
down-stairs  to  her  mother,  set  Charles  Ernest  and 
Dorie  to  pulling  out  their  low  trundle-bed  from  be 
neath  the  high  four-poster,  where  it  was  concealed 
during  the  day  by  the  white  valance,  and  with  Mil 
lie's  aid  she  soon  had  the  two  little  fellows  tucked 
snugly  in  their  soft  white  bed. 

In  the  meantime  there  had  been  a  few  moments  of 
embarrassing  silence  in  the  parlor  after  Lucy's  de 
parture.  In  a  straight,  high-backed  chair  near  the 
center  of  the  room,  Eunice  sat  primly  erect,  save  that 
her  head  was  a  little  bent,  her  curls  falling  forward 
from  above  her  ears  in  straight  lines  on  either  side  of 
her  face,  half  concealing  it.  Her  attitude  was  due  to 
the  fact  that  she  held  in  her  hand  a  little  shuttle  on 
whose  swift  flying  back  and  forth  her  eyes,  with  their 
dropped  lids,  were  conveniently  intent. 


A  WHITE  ROSE  135 

The  Charlton  family  had  already  discovered  that 
Eunice  and  her  shuttle  were  inseparable.  She  had 
been  bred  in  the  good  old  New  England  way  of  never 
allowing  herself  to  sit  with  idle  hands.  She  carried 
in  her  pocket  the  little  shuttle  with  its  spool  and  neat 
ball  of  finished  tatting,  and  between  breakfast  and 
prayers  it  came  out,  or  when  sitting  in  Mrs.  Charl 
ton 's  room  for  a  little  talk.  Lucy  had  not  been  sur 
prised  to  see  it  produced  while  they  were  awaiting 
McAllister's  arrival  in  the  parlor,  but  she  had  ex 
perienced  a  little  shock  when,  the  moment  the  first 
greetings  were  over,  Eunice  had  calmly  resumed  her 
work.  Lucy  innocently  supposed  that  it  required 
all  one's  attention  to  entertain  a  caller  properly; 
and  to  see  Eunice  sit  there  so  calmly,  with  no  feel 
ing  of  responsibility  as  to  the  entertainment  of 
her  guest,  was  not  only  surprising— it  was  a  little  ir 
ritating. 

Eex  found  it  a  little  irritating  also,  after  Lucy  had 
gone,  to  find  himself  sitting  opposite  that  unresponsive 
figure  without  the  least  chance  of  producing  any  ef 
fect  with  those  delicate  shades  of  acting  he  had 
counted  upon,  as  long  as  her  eyes  were  so  pertina 
ciously  fixed  on  her  work.  He  felt  his  temper  rising 
and  an  almost  irresistible  impulse  to  say,  "Confound 
that  tatting,  Miss  Harlowe !  Will  you  be  kind  enough 
to  pay  a  little  attention  to  a  guest  who  feels  that  he 
has  already  been  sufficiently  snubbed?" 

But  he  did  not  say  it,  and  there  was  something  in 
the  quaint  figure,  with  its  drooping  face,  that  attracted 
him  powerfully  in  spite  of  his  irritation.  He  could 

not  know,  of  course,  what  a  struggle  was  going  on 
10 


136  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

under  that  calm  exterior,  and  how  Eunice  was  screw 
ing  up  her  courage  to  make  that  dreaded  apology; 
nor  did  he  guess  the  effort  with  which  she  finally 
raised  her  head  and  said  quite  calmly: 

"I  owe  you  an  apology,  Mr.  McAllister,  for  my 
rudeness  to  you  at  choir  rehearsal.  I  have  no  explana 
tion  to  offer;  I  cannot  quite  understand  it  myself. 
It  was  a  sudden  impulse,  but  I  regret  it  exceedingly, 
and  am  very  much  ashamed  of  it. ' ' 

Hex  had  his  line  of  action  all  laid  out,  and  so  he 
resisted  a  more  manly  impulse  to  accept  her  apology 
at  once  and  heartily.  It  helped  him  to  resist  it  also 
that  her  eyes  had  again  dropped  upon  her  work,  and 
her  shuttle  was  flying  swiftly  back  and  forth.  He 
said  coldly: 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Harlowe,  for  deigning  to  bestow 
a  moment 's  notice  upon  me.  I  will  take  it  as  an  addi 
tional  kindness  on  your  part— if  you  can  reconcile 
it  with  your  conscience  to  spare  me  a  few  moments 
more  from  your  work — if  you  will  endeavor  to  ex 
plain  to  me  what  I  had  done  that  should  have  caused 
you  even  a  momentary  impulse  to  treat  me  so  un 
kindly." 

Eunice  could  not  conceive  that  Rex  should  think 
he  had  grounds  for  another  grievance  because  she 
had  occupied  herself  with  her  tatting— a  very  proper 
and  becoming  employment  for  a  young  lady  receiv 
ing  a  call,  she  thought,  and  a  comfortable  refuge 
for  her  eyes  in  case  of  embarrassment.  But  she 
dropped  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  looked  up  at  him, 
her  clear  look  a  little  troubled  at  the  coldness  of  his 


A  WHITE  ROSE  137 

tone.  She  had  felt  very  much  both  the  embarrassment 
and  the  humiliation  of  putting  herself  in  an  apolo 
getic  attitude  toward  this  young  man  so  shortly  after 
their  first  acquaintance,  but  she  had  unconsciously 
comforted  herself  with  the  thought  of  the  delicate 
kindliness  with  which  her  apology  would  be  received, 
and  the  instant  return  to  their  former  pleasant  foot 
ing.  Now  when  she  met  the  cold,  hard  look  in  the 
black  eyes  fastened  on  her,  mingled  with  her  dis 
appointment  in  the  way  he  had  received  her  apology 
was  a  little  sense  of  injustice.  It  stirred  her  quiet 
soul,  and  she  said  courageously: 

"Mr.  McAllister,  I  have  but  one  explanation  to 
make.  I  came  here  from  a  quiet  New  England  village, 
where  I  had  known  nothing  of  young  gentlemen  and 
the  fashion  of  their  conversation.  You  will  remember, 
perhaps,  the  tone  you  took  toward  me  from  the  first 
— such,  I  suppose,  as  you  are  in  the  habit  of  employ 
ing  toward  the  young  ladies  you  meet.  I  probably 
did  not  understand  you  perfectly,  and  thought  you 
were  presuming  on  my  ignorance  of  the  world;  and 
I  foolishly  resolved  to  show  you  on  Saturday  night, 
by  seeming  to  be  very  indifferent  to  you,  that  I  was 
not  so  unsophisticated  as  you  had  taken  me  to  be.  I 
see  now  that  it  was  the  surest  proof  of  my  ignorance ; 
but  I  have  said  that  I  am  sorry,  and  I  do  not  know 
that  I  can  do  anything  further." 

As  Eunice  spoke  her  courage  rose  steadily,  and  it 
seemed  to  Rex  there  was  a  defiant  ring  in  her  last 
words.  Her  eyes  met  his  calmly,  but  with  a  little 
spark  of  an  unusual  fire  in  their  cool  gray  depths. 


138  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

This  was  not  quite  what  he  had  intended.  He  had 
thought  to  melt  her  and  bring  her  very  humbly  to 
his  feet,  when  he  would  turn  magnanimous  and  re 
store  her  to  her  former  elevation.  But  he  could  not 
help  admiring  her  in  this  new  phase,  and  mingled  with 
his  admiration  was  just  a  little  awe  of  a  woman  who 
seemed  so  meek  and  simple,  and  yet  did  not  succumb 
at  once  to  his  all-conquering  wiles.  He  saw  that  it 
behooved  him  to  change  his  tactics,  and  he  did  so 
quickly  and  gracefully. 

"Miss  Harlowe,"  he  said,  as  he  bent  upon  her  his 
softest  look  and  his  most  winning  smile,  "you  have 
been  very  frank  and  very  generous,  and  I  feel  now 
that  it  is  I  who  have  the  apology  to  make  for  forcing 
you  to  an  explanation  when  you  had  already  made  the 
amende  honorable.  But  I  cannot  be  entirely  sorry, 
since  it  gives  me  the  opportunity  of  vindicating  myself 
to  you.  I  have  never  presumed  upon  your  ignorance. 
I  recognized  at  once  your  rare  charms  of  mind  and 
heart  and  person,  and  perhaps  yielded  to  them  more 
readily  because  they  were  of  a  kind  new  to  me  in 
their  manifestation.  But  it  is  my  Southern  ardor  that 
is  to  blame  for  betraying  that  interest  to  you,  and 
I  do  not  wonder  that  you  have  considered  me  presum 
ing  and  punished  me  accordingly.  If  you  will  re 
store  me  to  your  confidence  and  esteem,  I  will  prom 
ise  to  do  my  best  not  to  offend  again. ' ' 

It  was  all  said  with  such  apparent  sincerity  and 
humility,  accompanied  by  the  most  pleading  look  in 
the  eyes,  that  were  now  as  soft  as  they  had  been  hard, 
that  Eunice  would  have  had  to  be  made  of  sterner 


A  WHITE  EOSE  139 

stuff  to  resist  him ;  and  she  forgave  him  with  a  smile 
that  lost  for  once  the  constraint  that  usually  character 
ized  it,  and  was  wholly  sweet  and  natural. 

But  Eunice  had  never  fully  recovered  from  the 
headache  of  the  morning,  and  the  little  excitement 
through  which  she  had  just  passed,  combined  with 
the  heat  of  the  evening,  made  still  more  oppressive 
by  the  brightly  burning  gas,  brought  it  back  in  full 
force.  She  grew  very  white  when  the  excitement  of 
the  explanation  was  all  over,  and  Rex,  who  had  been 
exerting  himself  to  entertain  her  and  put  her  perfectly 
at  her  ease,  noticed  it  at  once. 

"You  are  not  well,  Miss  Harlowe,"  he  said;  "it 
is  the  heat  of  the  room.  Let  me  take  you  out  on  the 
veranda,  where  it  is  cooler.  It  is  insufferably  hot 
in  here." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  held  out  his  hand  as  if  to 
persuade  her  to  come  with  him ;  and  she  meekly  rose, 
too,  and  followed  him  through  the  low  windows  on  to 
the  veranda. 

There  was  a  roof  over  the  front  door  which  formed 
a  square  four-pillared  porch,  and  at  the  end  toward 
the  campus  a  close  lattice  covered  with  honeysuckle 
screened  from  all  observation  on  that  side.  A  low 
wooden  seat  ran  along  this  lattice,  and  in  the  corner 
made  by  the  turn  of  the  railing  and  one  of  the  pillars, 
Rex  found  a  comfortable  seat  for  Eunice,  where  the 
light  from  the  open  hall  door  fell  full  on  her  face. 
He  himself  sat  on  the  same  seat,  but  with  his  back 
to  the  light,  and  he  congratulated  himself  on  the 
pleasure  he  should  find  in  watching  her  changing 


140  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

expression  without  himself  being  observed.  The  air 
was  sultry,  there  was  evidently  a  thunder-storm  brew 
ing,  and  indeed  there  were  flickering  gleams  of  dis 
tant  lightning  and  low,  almost  inaudible  rumblings 
of  thunder;  but  there  was  sufficient  air  stirring  upon 
the  veranda  to  make  it  a  welcome  relief  from  the  hot 
parlor,  and  Rex  insisted  that  Eunice  should  not  try 
to  talk  if  her  head  ached.  He  himself  talked  on  in 
low  tones,  telling  her  of  life  on  a  Southern  plantation, 
and  describing  his  own  home  just  out  of  Columbia, 
where  the  air  was  pure  and  invigorating.  He  de 
scribed  the  big  plantation  house,  with  its  wide  gal 
leries  and  lawn  shaded  by  palmettos  and  fig-trees.  He 
told  her  of  his  handsome  old  father,  and  dwelt  lov 
ingly  on  the  sweetness  and  beauty  of  his  mother,  and 
how  they  both  united  to  spoil  their  only  child  until 
he  sometimes  thought  he  deserved  a  good  deal  of 
credit  for  being  no  worse  than  he  was.  Bex  could  talk 
well,  and  he  was  talking  with  a  purpose  now.  He 
wanted  to  impress  the  simple  New  England  maiden 
with  an  idea  of  his  own  magnificence  at  home,  and 
perhaps  excite  in  her  some  little  longing  for  the  life 
of  luxurious  ease  he  depicted  his  mother  as  leading, 
waited  upon  by  troops  of  devoted  servants. 

Eunice  would  have  said  she  was  an  abolitionist  if 
she  had  ever  been  questioned  on  the  subject,  for  she 
knew  her  father  was  one;  and  when  she  thought  on 
the  question  at  all,  she  felt  keenly  the  horror  and 
wickedness  of  slavery.  But  Rex  had  painted  life  in 
the  South  so  artistically  and  so  artfully  that  it  could 
not  but  look  very  tempting  to  her  just  now,  with  her 


"  He  was  talking  with  a  purpose  now." 


A  WHITE  ROSE  141 

head  aching  and  the  thought  of  to-morrow's  work 
and  another  hot  day  before  her.  She  was  resting  her 
head  against  the  pillar,  turned  a  little  away  from  Rex, 
but  listening  to  him  with  a  half-smile  hovering  about 
her  lips,  while  a  delicious  feeling  of  languor  and  rest 
stole  over  her.  For  almost  the  first  time  in  her  re 
membrance,  she  felt  a  longing  for  a  life  without  work, 
where  she  could  do  only  the  things  she  wanted  to  do, 
and  might  have  a  perfect  right  to  be  lazy.  She  still 
held  her  tatting  loosely  clasped  in  her  hands  resting 
on  her  lap.  There  had  been  a  moment's  silence:  Rex 
had  been  watching  her  face,  and  did  not  fail  to  read 
in  it  the  half -longing  for  a  life  like  the  one  he  had 
been  describing.  He  lightly  touched  the  tatting  that 
lay  in  her  lap,  and  the  hand  that  held  it. 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Harlowe,"  he  said,  "I  do  not 
like  to  see  you  doing  this  stuff.  It  makes  me  feel  that 
you  are  always  at  work,  and  there  is  never  any  rest 
for  you;  and  those  dainty  little  hands  were  surely 
made  to  lie  idle  sometimes,  just  as  they  are  now." 

"But  it  is  not  work,"  said  Eunice,  rousing  herself 
a  little;  "and  I  like  to  do  it.  I  greatly  prefer  it  to 
sitting  with  my  hands  folded." 

"But  it  makes  you  seem  so  dreadfully  industrious," 
said  Rex.  "Don't  do  it,  please,  when  I  come  to  see 
you,  will  you?" 

He  wanted  to  clasp  the  hand  that  held  the  obnox 
ious  tatting,  but  he  did  not  quite  dare.  Eunice  an 
swered  him  simply,  but  with  a  slight  blush,  "Cer 
tainly  not,  if  you  do  not  like  it";  and  then  Rex  rose 
to  Ms  feet. 


142  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"I  know  it  is  very  inconsiderate  of  me  to  keep  you 
here  when  your  head  aches;  you  must  forgive  me. 
I  will  not  stay  a  minute  longer.  We  are  good  friends 
now,  are  we  not?"  he  continued,  as  Eunice  also  rose, 
"and  you  will  not  again  refuse  to  shake  hands  with 
me?"— putting  out  his  hand.  "I  am  sorry  for  the 
poor  head,"  he  said,  half  tenderly,  as  Eunice  put 
her  hand  in  his;  "but  I  hope  it  will  be  better  to 
morrow."  Rex  knew  exactly  the  right  degree  of 
pressure  to  express  a  respectful  admiration  just  bor 
dering  on  tenderness,  and  he  was  careful  not  to  over 
step  the  limit. 

"Now,"  he  said,  as  she  gently  withdrew  her  hand, 
"go  right  up-stairs,  please.  I  can  see  you  are  suf 
fering,  and  I  will  step  into  the  parlor  and  turn  down 
the  gas  and  close  the  windows;  that  is  the  way  Mrs. 
Charlton  has  trained  me.  And  then  I  shall  stop  out 
side  on  the  veranda  and  light  my  cigar,  and  if  you 
will  come  to  your  window  and  give  me  some  sign 
that  you  have  reached  your  room  all  right,  it  will  be  a 
great  relief  to  my  anxiety.  You  look  so  white  and 
weak,  I  feel  as  though  there  were  danger  of  your 
fainting  on  the  way." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Eunice,  a  little  embarrassed  by  his 
empressement,  but  determined  to  treat  it  lightly; 
"I  am  perfectly  well,  except  for  a  little  remnant  of 
a  headache.  Please  do  not  feel  any  anxiety  on  my 
account. ' ' 

"But  I  do,"  he  persisted,  trying  to  take  her  hand 
again,  but  Eunice  evaded  him.  "That  little  white  rose 
you  are  wearing  in  your  hair—drop  it  down  to  me 


A  WHITE  ROSE  143 

from  your  window,  and  I  shall  know  you  are  not  suf 
fering,  and  it  will  be  an  immense  relief,  I  assure  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  McAllister,"  said  Eunice,  hastily; 
"I  tell  you  I  am  perfectly  well,  and  it  would  be  a 
foolish  thing  to  do." 

"Perhaps  my  anxiety  is  foolish,"  he  returned 
gravely,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone ;  ' '  but  drop  the 
rose,  then,  as  a  sign  that  our  compact  of  friendship 
shall  never  be  broken. ' ' 

"Mr.  McAllister,"  said  Eunice,  feeling  that  she 
must  stop  what  she  had  begun  to  think  was  a  very 
foolish  contention,  "I  am  not  quite  sure  that  we  have 
made  any  'compact  of  friendship';  but  if  we  have, 
I  am  sure  it  does  not  need  a  rose  to  ratify  it.  And 
now  I  must  say  good  night"  And  she  entered  the 
door. 

"And  you  will  not  do  it?" 

Eunice  shook  her  head,  but  tempered  her  severity 
with  a  smile  and  turned  away. 

He  called  after  her  softly:  "I  shall  wait  here  for 
it.  I  am  sure  you  cannot  be  so  hard-hearted." 

Eunice  heard  him  closing  the  parlor  windows  as 
she  went  up-stairs.  She  stopped  a  moment  at  Lucy's 
room  to  say  good  night  and  to  tell  her  that  she  was 
going  to  bed  immediately,  as  her  head  still  ached.  To 
Lucy's  look  of  inquiry  she  added:  "It  is  all  right. 
Mr.  McAllister  has  accepted  my  apology,  and  we 
are  very  good  friends."  Then  she  went  to  her  own 
room,  but  before  turning  up  the  gas  she  stole  softly 
to  the  window  and  looked  down  through  the  bowed 
shutters.  It  was  too  dark  to  distinguish  a  figure  at 


144  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

first,  but  there  was  a  little  red  glow  that  she  recog 
nized  must  be  Rex's  cigar,  and  gradually  she  thought 
she  could  make  out  a  dim  outline  leaning  against  one 
of  the  pillars.  She  felt  that  he  was  looking  up  at 
her  window  and  waiting.  She  thought  she  would 
watch  him  a  few  minutes,  and  see  how  long  he  would 
stand  there ;  but  as  she  watched  there  seemed  so  much 
patience  and  faith  expressed  in  that  motionless  figure 
that  it  began  to  move  her  strangely.  Slowly  she 
lifted  her  hand  to  her  hair  and  unfastened  the  rose. 
Yet  she  did  not  intend  to  throw  it  down ;  she  thought 
that  would  be  unutterably  silly.  But  the  longer  she 
watched  that  motionless  figure  the  more  compelling 
grew  her  impulse  to  drop  it,  until  finally  she  held 
it  over  the  open  space  in  an  agony  of  shame  and 
hesitation.  She  had  just  fully  resolved  not  to  drop  it 
when  it  fell— she  was  never  quite  sure  whether  of 
her  own  volition  or  not.  She  heard  the  soft  thud 
on  the  floor  of  the  veranda,  saw  the  red  spark  dart 
quickly  forward,  and  then  heard  a  low  but  distinct 
and  joyful: 

"Thank  you,  Eunice!" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  turned 
away  quickly,  almost  moaning,  "What  have  I  done! 
what  have  I  done!" 

As  for  Rex,  he  had  tried  to  believe  that  he  was 
sure  it  would  come  if  he  only  waited  long  enough 
for  it;  but  he  knew,  by  the  joyful  emotion  of  sur 
prise  that  he  experienced  when  he  heard  that  soft  thud, 
that  he  had  not  really  expected  it.  It  was  a  greater 
triumph  to  him  because  it  had  come  after  such  long 


A  WHITE  ROSE  145 

waiting,  for  he  knew  that  she  must  have  been  watch 
ing  him  all  that  time,  and  he  could  guess  through  what 
agonies  of  indecision  before  at  last  she  had  been  al 
most  compelled  to  throw  it  down.  It  was  on  the  joy 
ful  spur  of  the  moment  that  he  had  whispered, 
"Thank  you,  Eunice!"— boldly  using  her  name.  He 
half  trembled  at  his  audacity,  but  he  was  determined 
to  tremble  at  nothing,  now  that  he  had  gained  so 
signal  a  triumph,  and  it  elated  him,  strangely 
enough,  more  than  greater  ones  had  sometimes  done. 
He  pressed  the  little  flower  to  his  lips,  and  then  put 
it  carefully  away  in  an  inner  pocket  and  threw  himself 
down  in  the  seat  Eunice  had  occupied,  and  which 
commanded  a  view  of  her  window.  He  did  not  expect 
to  see  or  hear  anything  further  from  her,  but  he  liked 
to  watch  it,  and  he  took  it  as  an  omen  of  good  that 
the  light  was  not  turned  up.  He  knew  that  there  are 
thoughts  that  do  not  harmonize  with  gas-light,  and 
he  hoped  she  was  thinking  them. 

He  sat  buried  in  such  deep  thought  that  his  cigar 
soon  died  out  and  he  flung  it  away.  The  fact  was  that 
Rex  was  relenting  a  little  from  his  scheme  of  ven 
geance.  Eunice's  apology  had  been  so  sweetly  made, 
it  ought  to  have  more  than  satisfied  any  man  of  gen 
erous  impulses.  But  Rex's  self-love  had  been  so  care 
fully  nurtured  by  his  friends  and  family  that  it  had 
become  an  overweening  passion,  and  it  was  difficult 
for  him  ever  to  forgive  an  injury  inflicted  upon  it. 
Yet  there  was  a  charm  in  Eunice's  quaint  simplicity 
and  in  the  truth  and  earnestness  of  her  nature  that 
was  beginning  to  affect  him  strangely.  Had  she  been 


146  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

the  most  accomplished  coquette,  she  could  not  have 
used  more  powerful  devices  to  draw  him  to  her  than 
her  formal  little  turns  of  speech,  combined  with  the 
fluctuating  color  that  leaped  so  suddenly  to  her  cheek 
and  died  so  suddenly  away,  and  the  rare  lifting  of 
the  shy  eyes  to  meet  his.  It  had  not  been  all  acting 
when  he  had  seized  the  rose  and  pressed  it  to  his 
lips;  and  if  his  long  waiting  for  it  had  made  it  a 
greater  triumph  when  it  came,  it  had  also  made  it 
all  the  more  powerful  to  set  his  heart  beating  in 
quick  throbs  and  the  color  rising  in  his  dark  cheek. 

He  was  beginning  to  relent  now,  and  for  half  an 
hour  he  had  been  trying  to  decide  whether  he  should 
abandon  this  hot  pursuit  before  the  little  Puritan's 
heart  should  really  be  engaged,  or  whether  he  should 
go  on  recklessly,  regardless  of  consequences.  The 
sweetness  of  the  pursuit  lured  him  to  go  on  with  his 
plan;  it  was  the  stirring  of  a  better  nature  than  he 
gave  himself  credit  for  that  made  him  hesitate.  At 
the  end  of  a  half  hour  of  hard  thinking  he  was  no 
nearer  a  decision  than  at  the  beginning.  He  could 
only  promise  himself  that  for  a  few  days  at  least  he 
would  keep  away  from  the  little  schoolmistress,  and 
perhaps  then  he  would  be  better  able  to  decide  upon 
an  ultimate  line  of  action. 

Bethinking  himself  at  last  of  the  time,  he  rose, 
and  softly  whistling  a  bar  of  "The  Soldier's  Fare 
well,  ' '  which  he  hoped  might  reach  the  ears  for  which 
it  was  intended,  he  descended  the  steps,  passed  through 
the  tiny  gate  in  the  hedge,  and  on  his  way  to  West 
College  met  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  MORNING  WALK 

dear,"  said  the  doctor,  thoughtfully,  as  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him  and  began  the  slow 
pacing  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  room  that  was 
a  sure  sign  with  him  of  perplexed  cogitations,  "do 
you  think  it  is  quite  right  for  Mr.  McAllister  to  stay 
so  late  when  we  are  both  out?" 

"I  hardly  think  he  has  been  here  at  all,"  answered 
his  wife.  "While  you  stopped  to  lock  up  and  put 
out  the  lights,  I  ran  up-stairs,  and  both  Lucy  and 
Eunice  seemed  to  be  in  bed  and  asleep.  He  may 
have  been  simply  passing  through  the  yard." 

"Possibly,"  said  the  doctor,  "and  I  hope  so.  I 
would  not  like  him  to  begin  any  marked  attentions  to 
Miss  Harlowe,  and  I  think  he  has  seen  a  good  deal 
of  her  in  the  few  days  that  she  has  been  here.  He  is 
an  agreeable  young  man,  and  to  a  young  woman  who 
has  seen  as  little  of  the  world  as  Miss  Harlowe  he 
would  no  doubt  be  very  captivating.  But  he  is  not  the 
kind  of  fellow  to  make  her  happy,  even  if  he  should 
be  serious  in  his  attentions,  and  I  hardly  think  he  is 
likely  to  be  permanently  attracted  by  any  one  so 
unlike  himself." 

147 


148  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Charlton;  "I  hardly  think  she  is 
the  kind  of  girl  to  attract  Rex  McAllister;  but  I  al 
most  wish  she  was— she  would  do  him  a  world  of 
good." 

"Oh,  no,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor,  stopping  sud 
denly  in  his  walk  and  frowning  slightly;  "I  know 
Rex  is  a  favorite  with  you,  and  you  can  do  him  good ; 
but  a  young  and  inexperienced  girl  like  Miss  Har- 
lowe  could  not  help  him.  You  will  have  to  look  out 
for  her  a  little,  my  dear;  for  I  fancy  she  knows  no 
thing  of  young  men,  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  have 
her  suffer  any  hurt  in  her  affections  through  such 
a  reckless  fellow  as  Rex.  If  I  read  her  aright,  she 
will  be  slow  to  allow  herself  to  become  interested  in 
any  one;  but  it  will  be  a  serious  matter  with  her  if 
she  once  permits  her  affections  to  become  engaged. 
And  you  know  how  it  is  with  Rex.  He  likes  to  amuse 
himself,  and  a  flirtation  seems  a  harmless  pastime 
with  him." 

Mrs.  Charlton  was  inclined  to  think  her  husband 
a  little  hard  on  Rex,  who  was  a  prime  favorite  with 
her;  but  before  they  had  finished  their  conference 
she  had  promised  that  if  there  seemed  to  be  any  dan 
ger  she  would  do  her  best  to  save  Eunice  from  pos 
sible  entanglement. 

Through  the  week  that  followed,  Mrs.  Charlton  was 
convinced  that  her  husband's  anxieties  were  ground 
less,  for  nothing  was  seen  of  Rex  at  the  house.  As 
for  Eunice,  for  the  first  few  days  it  was  a  relief 
not  to  see  him;  she  was  overwhelmed  with  an  in 
tolerable  sense  of  shame  whenever  she  remembered 


A  MORNING  WALK  149 

the  dropping  of  the  rose,  and  dreaded  seeing  in  his 
eyes,  when  she  should  meet  him,  a  recognition  of  her 
foolishness.  But  as  the  days  went  on,  and  she  saw 
nothing  of  him,  she  began  to  feel  still  more  keenly 
that  she  probably  had  so  far  lost  ground  by  her  silly 
little  act  and  too  ready  yielding  to  his  request  as  to 
destroy  the  regard  for  her  and  interest  in  her  which 
had  seemed  to  be  both  lively  and  genuine.  She  now 
longed  to  meet  him,  that  she  might  discover  whether 
he  held  her  in  any  altered  estimation.  She  felt  quite 
sure  that  she  should  meet  him  at  choir  rehearsal  on 
Saturday  evening,  and  even  had  a  hardly  confessed 
hope  that  he  might  make  an  engagement  with  her  as 
escort  for  that  event.  This  hope  was  crushed,  how 
ever,  on  Friday  morning,  by  the  receipt  of  one  of 
those  tiny  white  envelops  inclosing  a  request  from 
Mr.  Rogers  for  that  honor.  Of  course  she  could  do 
nothing  but  accept  his  invitation;  and  although  she 
realized  that  it  would  be  an  intense  disappointment 
if  one  should  come  later  from  McAllister,  she  also 
rejoiced  a  little  in  the  feeling  that  he  would  recognize 
she  was  sufficiently  in  demand  to  require  urgency  on 
his  part  if  he  desired  to  be  first. 

But  no  little  white  note  came  from  Rex.  And,  still 
worse,  he  did  not  appear  at  choir  rehearsal.  Her  cha 
grin  was  the  more  acute  when  she  overheard  Willie 
Dayton  say,  in  reply  to  Miss  Allen's  inquiry  as  to  his 
whereabouts,  that  he  was  at  a  little  card-party  at  Miss 
McNair's.  Eunice  remembered  very  distinctly  what 
Lucy  had  told  her  about  Miss  McNair  and  Rex  Mc 
Allister,  and  she  had  a  very  vivid  recollection  also 


150  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

of  the  air  of  rightful  appropriation  with  which  Miss 
McNair  had  carried  him  off  on  the  night  of  the  pa- 
tronee  party.  There  wras  something  shocking  also  to 
her  Puritan  ideas  in  the  sound  of  "card-party,"  and 
she  began  to  take  herself  roundly  to  task  for  allowing 
her  thoughts  to  dwell  on  one  who  was,  no  doubt,  com 
mitted  elsewhere,  and  whose  "walk  and  conversation," 
she  felt  sure,  were  not  such  as  her  father  would  ap 
prove,  or  she  ought  to  desire,  in  a  friend.  She  de 
termined  on  the  spot  to  banish  him  resolutely  from 
her  thoughts,  while  her  cheek  burned  with  the  remem 
brance  of  her  folly. 

She  saw  him  on  Sunday,  however.  He  was  in  his 
old  seat,  and  she  could  see,  without  appearing  to,  that, 
as  on  the  Sunday  before,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  most  of  the  time.  He  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
gallery  stairs— waiting  for  her,  no  doubt— when  she 
came  down;  but  Mr.  Rogers  was  beside  her,  and  she 
devoted  herself  to  him  assiduously,  only  letting  her 
glance  rest  for  a  moment  upon  Rex  as  she  vouch 
safed  him  a  frigid  bow.  But  in  that  brief  moment 
her  eyes  met  his,  and  saw  in  them  nothing  but  the 
friendliest  feeling  mingled  with  disappointment  at 
not  being  permitted  to  walk  home  with  her;  and  in 
spite  of  her  effort  at  self-control,  tongues  of  vivid 
color  leaped  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyelids  dropped 
quickly  to  escape  his  glance. 

Rex  was  disappointed  in  not  being  able  to  walk 
home  with  her,  and  the  frigid  bow  was  hardly  what 
he  had  been  looking  forward  to;  but  he  was  not  en 
tirely  displeased  with  her  attitude.  The  signs  of 


A  MORNING  WALK  151 

confusion  did  not  escape  his  keen  glance,  and  flaming 
cheeks  and  dropped  eyelids  did  not  betoken  calm  in 
difference.  He  had  congratulated  himself  on  his  self- 
restraint  in  keeping  away  for  a  week,  trying  to  con 
vince  himself  that  he  was  acting  solely  from  a  gener 
ous  consideration  for  her.  But  he  was  secretly  con 
scious  of  a  feeling  that  to  give  her  a  chance  to  miss 
his  presence  and  desire  it  was  as  potent  a  means  as 
he  could  use  to  increase  her  interest  in  him.  So  long 
had  he  been  accustomed  to  use  the  wiles  of  a  flirt  that 
they  had  become  second  nature  to  him ;  and  even  when 
he  was  most  resolving  to  be  honest  and  manly  in  his 
intercourse  with  the  little  Puritan,  he  was  uncon 
sciously  calculating  the  effect  of  his  line  of  action. 
He  had  half  thought  that  he  would  make  an  engage 
ment  with  her  for  church  that  evening;  he  decided 
now  not  to  do  so,  congratulating  himself  upon  prac 
tising  still  further  self-denial. 

He  repented  of  his  self-denial,  however,  when  he 
met  Rogers  going  toward  the  doctor's  about  church- 
time  and  divined  that  he  had  an  engagement  with 
Eunice.  There  was  no  love  lost  between  the  two  men. 
They  belonged  to  different  college  fraternities,  but 
there  were  stronger  reasons  for  their  latent  antagonism 
in  radical  differences  of  temperament  and  character. 
Mr.  Rogers  was  grave — almost  stern — of  temper,  with 
fine  old  Quaker  blood  in  his  veins  that  could  make 
little  allowance  for  the  youthful  follies  of  the  hot 
headed  Southerner,  who,  in  his  turn,  looked  down 
upon  Rogers  as  a  pragmatical,  self-righteous  fellow, 

bigoted  and  narrow.    Rex  could  not  conceive  that  such 
li 


152  IN   OLD   BELLAIRE 

a  man  could  stand  any  chance  with  a  woman,  com 
pared  with  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world,  as  he 
considered  himself;  but  a  little  twinge  of  jealousy 
when  he  saw  Rogers  pass  through  the  gate  in  the 
hedge  warned  him  that  it  was  not  well  to  allow  a 
possible  rival  too  many  chances. 

He  spent  part  of  the  evening  pacing  up  and  down 
Middle  Path,  its  heavily  shaded  gloom  lighted  only 
by  the  tiny  glow  of  his  cigar.  He  was  dreamily  try 
ing  to  decide  for  himself  the  question  that  had  been 
lying  in  the  background  of  his  thoughts  all  the  week. 
Should  he  permit  himself  the  idle  pleasure  of  a  vigor 
ous  flirtation  \vith  this  semi-rustic  maiden  or  not? 
He  was  half  tired  of  Lydia  MeNair's  dashing  ways. 
The  fumes  of  the  wine  that  had  been  served  around  the 
card-tables  the  night  before  were  still  lingering  in 
his  brain,  and  left  him  in  a  state  of  feverish  unrest, 
which  made  the  image  of  the  cool,  calm  Puritan 
maiden  particularly  attractive. 

He  felt  himself  in  no  way  pledged  to  Lydia,  al 
though  he  was  conscious  of  having  often  said  what 
might  mean  much  or  little,  according  to  the  humor  in 
which  it  was  taken,  but  he  believed  that,  in  spite  of  her 
careless,  offhand  ways  and  her  reputation  for  coquetry, 
Lydia  McNair  really  liked  him,  and  that  it  would  take 
but  a  little  more  earnestness  on  his  part  to  make  the 
matter  serious  between  them.  He  liked  Lydia,  too, 
and  sometimes  had  thoughts  of  ' '  going  in  in  earnest, ' ' 
as  he  phrased  it;  but  though  he  enjoyed  her  bold, 
pleasant  ways,  she  was  not,  after  all,  his  ideal  of 
womanhood.  This  little  Puritan,  prim  and  unso- 


A  MORNING  WALK  153 

phisticated  though  she  was,  came  in  many  respects 
much  nearer  the  dainty  ideal  he  secretly  cherished. 
Not  in  every  respect;  her  prim  and  formal  ways 
amused  him;  his  ideal  woman  was  to  have  the  gra 
cious  ease  of  a  woman  of  the  world,  while  retain 
ing  the  dainty  and  delicate  bloom  of  exquisite  femi 
ninity.  He  had  no  compunctions  as  to  the  manliness 
of  saying  as  much  as  he  had  said  to  Lydia  McNair, 
and  saying  no  more.  It  had  been  Greek  to  Greek 
through  all  their  intercourse,  and  he  very  well  knew 
that  she  was  keeping  Lieutenant  Watson  on  the  tenter 
hooks  as  a  reserve  until  she  should  be  sure  of  his 
intentions. 

The  lieutenant  was  a  manly  young  fellow,  honestly 
infatuated  with  Miss  Lydia,  and  Rex  had  a  sincere 
liking  for  him,  and  was  not  sure  but  the  greatest 
kindness  he  could  do  Miss  Lydia  was  to  leave  the 
field  free  for  the  lieutenant. 

The  result  of  his  cogitations  as,  tired  of  walking, 
he  threw  himself  down  on  Rock  Steps  to  rest  while 
he  came  to  a  decision,  was  that  he  would  let  matters 
drift.  He  would  no  longer  shun  Eunice,  and  if 
Rogers  had  any  intentions  in  that  direction,  he  must 
look  to  his  spurs,  for  an  invincible  chevalier  des 
dames  was  about  to  enter  the  lists  against  him.  And 
then  he  drew  from  an  inner  pocket  a  little  white  rose 
pressed  between  the  leaves  of  a  note-book,  and  assured 
himself  that  he  possessed  a  guerdon  that  proved  him 
already  high  in  favor,  and  Rogers  or  another  would 
find  it  difficult  to  oust  him  from  his  position  of  ad 
vantage. 


154  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Eunice  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a  pleasant  con 
sciousness  that  it  was  Monday  and  a  week's  work  lay 
before  her.  Monday  always  seemed  to  her  like  the 
beginning  of  a  new  life;  and,  always  the  most  ener 
getic  of  little  women,  she  felt  herself  endowed  with 
a  double  portion  of  energy  on  Monday  mornings.  It 
added  to  her  satisfaction  that  she  had  neither  re 
grets  nor  self-reproaches  to  torment  her ;  nothing  but 
the  calm  remembrance  of  a  mildly  pleasant  evening 
spent  with  Mr.  Kogers,  and  she  liked  calm,  and  was 
more  than  ever  resolved  that  she  should  permit  no 
thing  hereafter  to  disturb  it. 

Breakfast  at  the  Charltons'  was  an  early  meal. 
By  half-past  seven  it  and  morning  prayers  were  both 
over,  and  Eunice  decided  that  instead  of  waiting  for 
Lucy,  as  was  her  usual  custom,  she  would  go  over  to 
her  school-room  at  once  and  finish  correcting  some 
papers  before  the  hour  for  the  opening  of  school. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  and  she  felt  the  fine 
air  tingling  in  her  veins  as  she  walked  down  the  wind 
ing  path  that  led  to  Lovers'  Lane.  She  had  just 
passed  through  the  little  gate  that  opened  into  that 
beautiful  overarched  pathway,  when  she  discovered 
Rex  McAllister  coming  toward  the  upper  end  of  it 
along  a  narrow,  shaded  footpath  running  by  the 
southern  side  of  the  campus  at  right  angles  with 
Lovers'  Lane.  His  head  was  bent  over  a  book  he  was 
apparently  studying,  and  Eunice  half  stopped  a  mo 
ment,  meditating  a  retreat,  for  she  thought  he  had 
not  seen  her,  and  she  dreaded  meeting  him. 

But  as  she  hesitated  he  looked  up  from  his  book, 


A  MORNING  WALK  155 

waved  his  hand  to  her  from  a  distance,  and  began 
to  walk  quickly  toward  her.  She  was  still  inclined 
to  turn  and  run,  but  a  sense  of  her  own  dignity  for 
bade  her  yielding  to  her  inclination ;  there  was  nothing 
for  her  to  do  but  to  go  on  and  meet  him.  Her  veins, 
which  had  been  tingling  with  joy,  were  now  throbbing 
heavily  with  dread,  and  her  step,  that  had  been  free 
and  spirited,  was  slow  and  constrained.  She  could 
think  of  nothing  but  the  white  rose  and  the  whis 
pered  " Thank  you,  Eunice!"  and  the  face  that  she 
would  have  liked  to  keep  so  calm  and  impassive  she 
felt  was  suffused  with  blushes. 

He  met  her  half-way  down  the  path,  with  hand  ex 
tended  and  a  joyous  greeting. 

"How  is  Miss  Eunice  this  beautiful  morning?" 

Eunice  could  not  refuse  her  hand,  but  she  managed 
barely  to  touch  his  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  while 
she  answered  formally: 

"Quite  nicely,  I  thank  you,  sir." 

Rex  smiled  as  he  turned  to  walk  beside  her  without 
asking  her  leave.  The  smile  was  partly  for  the  quaint 
New  England  expression,  but  it  was  still  more  for 
the  determined  frigidity  of  her  manner.  He  did  not 
mind  it ;  he  promised  himself  much  pleasure  in  watch 
ing  it  gradually  thaw  under  his  skilful  direction. 

"It  seems  a  long  time  since  I  last  saw  you,  "he  said 
softly,  with  a  look  that  might  have  been  effective  if 
she  had  seen  it,  but  was  thrown  away  on  her  dropped 
eyelids.  Eunice  did  not  answer;  she  would  not  have 
known  how  to  reply  to  a  little  speech  of  that  kind, 
even  if  she  had  been  in  a  less  unbending  mood,  but  she 


156  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

was  now  absorbed  in  trying  to  devise  a  means  of 
escape. 

Bex  was  not  discouraged,  but  went  on  boldly: 

"This  has  been  a  very  long  week  to  me.  I  purposely 
kept  away,  fearing  my  too  frequent  coming  would 
annoy  you;  but  I  was  sustaining  myself  with  the 
hope  of  seeing  you  at  choir  rehearsal,  when  I  received 
an  invitation  that  I  could  not  decline  and  which  de 
stroyed  that  hope." 

Eunice  knew  what  that  invitation  was,  and 
she  guessed  there  had  been  no  desire  to  decline  it, 
and  she  was  filled  with  a  sterner  determination  to 
resist  his  advances.  She  was  recovering  her  equa 
nimity  and  she  lifted  her  eyes  calmly  to  his  as  she 
answered : 

"It  has  been  a  very  pleasant  week  to  me.  You 
remember  that  I  tqld  you  how  little  I  had  seen  of 
young  society.  I  think  I  have  seen  more  of  it  in  this 
week  than  in  all  the  rest  of  my  life ;  there  have  been  so 
many  party  calls  at  Mrs.  Charl ton's,  and  I  have  found 
it  very  agreeable. ' ' 

Rex  shot  a  quick  glance  at  her  from  the  corner  of 
his  eye.  Was  she  developing  into  a  coquette?  Was 
this  said  with  the  idea  of  rousing  his  jealousy  or  pun 
ishing  him  for  his  absence  ?  There  was  no  hint  of  co 
quetry  in  her  manner,  but  he  determined  to  assume 
the  role  of  injured  lover. 

"That  is  the  worst  of  it,"  he  said  reproachfully; 
"while  I  have  been  lonely  and  discontented,  with  only 
my  dreams  and  my  memories  to  comfort  me,  others 
have  been  basking  in  your  presence,  sunning  them- 


A  MOENING   WALK  157 

selves  in  your  smiles,  and  listening  to  your  sweet 
voice." 

Eunice  was  disturbed.  Her  one  glance  at  him  had 
shown  him  even  handsomer  than  she  remembered  him, 
and  there  seemed  a  ring  of  true  feeling  in  his  voice ; 
and  though  she  knew  he  had  no  right  to  talk  to  her 
in  that  way,  yet  when  she  remembered  the  rose,  she 
felt  that  she  had  only  herself  to  blame  for  his  au 
dacity.  Yet  the  more  she  felt  the  fascination  and 
danger  of  his  presence,  the  more  determined  she  was 
to  put  an  end  to  their  present  false  relations.  She 
answered  him,  therefore,  severely: 

"Mr.  McAllister,  I  thought  you  promised  me  not 
to  offend  in  that  way  again.  Indeed,  I  believe  it 
was  agreed  that  if  there  was  to  exist  any  friendship 
between  us,  it  was  to  be  on  the  condition  that  you  were 
to  dispense  with  the  little  gallantries  to  which  I  am  not 
accustomed. ' ' 

They  had  reached  the  Iron  Gate,  and  Rex  was  hold 
ing  it  open  for  her  to  pass  through.  She  added 
coldly : 

"Our  ways  separate  here,  I  believe;  I  wish  you 
good  morning." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Rex,  quickly;  "you  are  on  your 
way  to  school,  are  you  not?  I  will  promise  not  to 
offend  again  if  you  will  permit  me  to  accompany 
you." 

Eunice  would  have  preferred  it  otherwise,  but  she 
did  not  see  her  way  to  refuse  so  simple  a  request 
without  rudeness;  and  in  the  short  walk  to  St.  John's 
Church,  where  her  school-room  was,  Rex  made  himself 


158  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

exceedingly  entertaining,  not  once  referring  to  any 
personal  matter. 

They  passed  around  the  front  of  the  church  to  a 
gate  opening  from  Portland  Street  into  a  yard  in 
closed  by  a  high  fence.  A  small  door  opened  from  this 
yard  into  the  rear  of  the  Sunday-school  room,  through 
which  it  was  necessary  to  pass  to  reach  Eunice's 
school-room.  Eunice  had  the  key  of  this  door,  and 
Rex  took  it  from  her  and  unlocked  it,  and  then  she 
turned  to  him  to  say  good-by. 

There  were  no  houses  opposite  the  church  on  Port 
land,  and  Rex's  quick  eye  noted  that  there  were 
no  passers  on  the  street  as  they  entered  the  yard. 

"Will  you  not  show  me  your  school-room?"  he  said 
persuasively.  "It  is  early,  and  I  promise  not  to 
bother  you  more  than  a  few  moments. ' ' 

Eunice  hesitated.  It  did  not  seem  to  her  quite  the 
"proper"  thing  to  do,  but  she  was  not  very  sure  of  the 
proprieties,  and  Rex  had  made  himself  so  agreeable 
to  her  through  their  short  walk  that  he  was  already 
beginning  to  undermine  her  stern  resolutions.  He  ac 
companied  his  request  with  such  a  winning  smile  of 
friendly  beseeching  that  she  had  not  the  heart  to 
refuse,  and  she  walked  primly  before  him  through 
the  big,  silent  room  to  her  school-room  door. 

The  school-room  had  been  shut  up  since  Friday,  and 
was  close  and  stuffy.  Eunice  went  at  once  toward 
the  windows  to  open  them,  but  Rex  quickly  interposed. 
They  were  high  Gothic  windows,  befitting  a  church, 
and  it  took  some  effort  and  some  little  time  on  Rex's 
part  to  open  them,— an  interval  which  Eunice  em- 


A  MOKNING  WALK  159 

ployed  in  removing  her  bonnet  and  putting  it  away. 
The  balmy  morning  air  soon  filled  the  room  with 
sweetness.  The  windows  looked  toward  the  south 
and  east,  and  the  young  maples  bordering  the  pave 
ment  tempered  the  sunshine  that  came  filtering 
through  the  leaves,  casting  cool  shadows  on  the  floor 
and  desks. 

"This  is  my  school-room,"  said  Eunice,  as  Rex 
turned  from  his  task ;  ' '  and,  as  you  see,  there  is  little 
to  show  you.  But  I  think  it  a  pleasant  room." 

"Very  pleasant,  indeed,"  answered  Eex;  "but  I 
shall  not  know  quite  how  it  looks  unless  I  see  the 
teacher  in  her  chair." 

"Very  well,"  she  said;  "you  shall  see  the  teacher 
in  all  the  terrors  of  her  authority,  and  then  I  shall 
expect  you  to  depart  at  once";  and  she  mounted  the 
little  platform,  and  sat  down  in  her  chair  with  a 
little  air  of  constraint  inseparable  from  her  when  she 
felt  herself  under  observation. 

By  the  side  of  her  chair  stood  a  table  on  which 
were  neatly  arranged  pens,  pencils,  and  ink,  a  ruler, 
a  globe,  and  a  few  books.  Eunice  rested  her  right 
arm  on  the  table,  and  took  the  ruler  in  her  hand, 
while  her  other  hand  dropped  in  her  lap.  You 
might  have  thought  she  was  sitting  for  a  picture  of 
the  typical  teacher,  such  a  pedagogical  air  had  she 
assumed,  her  slim  figure,  rigidly  erect,  holding  the 
symbol  of  stern  authority  in  her  hand.  But  it  was 
a  pretty  picture,  too ;  her  gray  dress  fitted  her  slender 
figure  perfectly- and  harmonized  with  the  pale  tints 
of  her  brown  hair,  blue-gray  eyes,  and  delicately  tinted 


160  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

cheeks.  It  was  brightened  at  the  throat  by  a  soft 
lace  collar  fastened  with  a  scarlet  ribbon,  and  from 
beneath  the  folds  of  the  hoopless  skirt  peeped  a  tiny 
pointed  shoe. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  admiration  in  Rex's 
glance  as,  resting  his  foot  on  the  platform  and  leaning 
one  arm  on  a  supporting  knee  in  almost  the  exact  at 
titude  in  which  Eunice  had  first  seen  him,  he  brought 
himself  nearer  her  and  his  eyes  on  a  level  with  hers. 

"Most  dread  and  august  pedagogue,"  he  said  gaily, 
"you  inspire  me  with  a  mighty  awe;  but  behold  me 
meekly  ready  to  receive  any  eastigation  you  may  in 
flict  or  any  penance  you  may  impose,  if  you  will  only 
show  me  wherein  I  have  offended  since  last  Monday 
night." 

Eunice,  who  had  smiled  at  the  beginning  of  the 
speech,  grew  very  rigid  at  its  close. 

"Mr.  McAllister,"  she  said,  "I  thought  you  prom 
ised  not  to  return  to  that." 

' '  I  promised  that  I  would  not  on  my  walk.  I  made 
no  promises  for  the  school-room";  and  then,  quickly 
changing  his  tone  to  a  more  serious  one,  he  said: 
"Miss  Harlowe,  I  wear  near  my  heart  a  little  flower 
that  I  have  been  cherishing  all  this  week  as  a  pledge 
of  our  friendship ;  and  now  the  first  time  I  meet  you 
since  receiving  that  pledge,  I  find  you  changed. 
There  is  no  longer  any  friendliness  in  your  manner. 
You  try  in  every  way  to  avoid  me  or  to  snub  me. 
I  think  it  is  only  right  you  should  tell  me  what  I  have 
done  to  incur  your  evident  displeasure." 

His  eyes  had  lost  their  smiling  look ;  he  was  gazing 


A  MORNING  WALK  161 

directly  and  earnestly  into  hers.  Eunice  turned  away. 
She  was  suffering  intense  mortification  and  embar 
rassment,  betrayed  by  the  nervous  playing  with  the 
ruler  and  the  painful  color  that  slowly  and  steadily 
deepened  in  her  face.  But  the  clenching  of  the  small 
hand  that  lay  in  her  lap  betrayed  also  that  she  was 
nerving  herself  for  some  unpleasant  task. 

"Mr.  McAllister,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone  as  Rex 
paused  for  a  reply,  "it  is  mortifying  to  me  to  be  com 
pelled  to  express  my  regret  and  humiliation  that  I 
should  have  ever  been  led  into  so  silly  an  act  as  to 
drop  that  rose." 

' '  No,  no, ' '  said  Rex,  interrupting  her  eagerly ;  ' '  do 
not  call  it  silly :  it  was  the  sweetest  and  most  womanly 
of  actions,  and  I  cherish  the  rose  as  a  most  sacred 
and  precious  pledge  of  our  friendship." 

Eunice  went  on  coldly : 

"I  am  sorry  you  should  attach  any  importance  to 
it  at  all.  Please  do  not  consider  it  a  pledge  of  friend 
ship  or  anything  but  a  worthless  flower,  whose  drop 
ping  was  the  combined  result  of  a  foolish  impulse 
and  accident..  And  I  wish  to  say  further,  Mr.  Mc 
Allister,  that  I  do  not  feel  that  I  am  ready  to  enter 
into  any  compact  of  friendship  with  you.  My  ac 
quaintance  with  you  is  very  brief,  and  although  I  have 
found  it  pleasant,  I  do  not  believe  we  have  any  com 
mon  ground  on  which  to  base  a  friendship."  She 
went  on  with  still  more  effort:  "We  have  been  very 
differently  reared.  Many  things  that  seem  to  you  but 
harmless  amusements  shock  me  inexpressibly.  I  be 
lieve  there  are  very  few  vital  points  on  which  we  feel 


162  IN  OLD   BELLAIRE 

or  think  or  believe  alike.  There  can  be  no  natural  or 
permanent  growth  of  friendship  between  two  people 
so  totally  unlike  in  every  respect;  I  do  not  believe 
it  is  wise  to  try  to  force  a  temporary  one.  It  is  better 
that  we  should  remain  simply  on  the  footing  of  pleas 
ant  acquaintance." 

Rex  had  not  changed  his  attitude,  nor  had  his  eyes 
left  Eunice's  face,  and  it  made  it  all  the  more  diffi 
cult  to  speak  steadily  under  their  intense  gaze.  He 
answered  now  in  a  tone  as  low  and  restrained  as  her 
own: 

' '  I  feel  the  force  of  much  you  have  said,  Miss  Har- 
lowe;  I  know  I  am  not  worthy  of  your  friendship, 
and  if  you  knew  me  better  you  might  be  still  more 
shocked  by  what  would  seem  to  you  my  ungodly  ways. 
But  in  the  few  days  I  have  known  you  I  have  had 
more  impulses  toward  higher  and  better  living  than 
I  have  had  in  years.  Do  you  not  think  it  a  woman's 
mission  to  make  the  world  better?  Can  there  be  no 
friendship  between  a  lovely  and  noble  woman  and  a 
man  who  has  some  longings  for  a  nobler  life?  I 
have  a  mother  who  is  as  sweet  and  true  a  Christian 
as  I  am  sure  you  are.  Nothing  could  make  her  hap 
pier  than  to  know  her  wayward  boy  had  found  a 
pure,  sweet,  lovely  Christian  friend  who  could  per 
suade  him  to  renounce  the  wrong  and  follow  the 
right." 

Eunice  was  much  moved.  She  knew  that  this  might 
be  very  specious  pleading,  but  she  could  not  believe 
it  was.  There  was  genuine  feeling  in  his  voice,  and 
she  shrank  sensitively  from  assuming  the  role  of  the 


A  MORNING  WALK  163 

Pharisee ;  while  one  sentence  from  her  morning  read 
ing  kept  ringing  in  her  ears,  "Who  knoweth  whether 
thou  art  come  to  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time  as 
this?" 

Rex  waited  for  her  answer,  but  while  she  hesitated, 
perplexed  by  conflicting  emotions,  there  came  through 
the  open  window  the  sound  of  merry  voices  from  the 
pavement  below.  Eunice  started  up  nervously. 

' '  Please  go,  Mr.  McAllister,  at  once, ' '  she  exclaimed. 
"My  pupils  are  coming.  They  will  be  here  in  a  mo 
ment." 

"I  will  go,  Miss  Harlowe,  and  I  shall  manage  not 
to  be  seen  by  them.  I  would  not  have  you  annoyed 
for  worlds,"  said  Rex,  as  he  drew  himself  erect. 
"But  you  must  promise  me  one  thing — that  you  will 
give  me  an  opportunity  to  finish  this  conversation." 

' '  Oh,  yes,  yes ! ' '  said  Eunice,  hardly  knowing  what 
she  said  in  her  anxiety  lest  her  pupils  should  come 
in  and  surprise  McAllister  there. 

Rex  grasped  the  hand  that  lay  in  her  lap  with  a 
quick  pressure.  "Good-by,"  he  said;  "you  must  not 
worry.  No  one  shall  know  I  have  been  here." 

Eunice  saw  him  disappear  somewhere  in  the  depths 
of  the  big,  empty  church,  and  then  hastily  drew  from 
her  table  drawer  a  bundle  of  papers.  When,  a  mo 
ment  later,  two  of  the  older  girls  entered  the  school 
room,  Miss  Harlowe  was  calmly  engaged  in  correct 
ing  compositions. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A  SOIREE  MUSICALE 

•TITHE  Misses  Perkins  present  their  compliments  to 
JL    Miss  Harlowe,  and  will  be  honored  by  her  pres 
ence  at  a  Soiree  Musicale  on  Friday  evening  at  eight 

"R.  S.  V.  P. 

"Tuesday,  Sept.  15th." 

Eunice's  invitation  was  one  of  three  left  at  Mrs. 
Charlton's  by  a  colored  boy  in  white  gloves  car 
rying  a  silver  salver  on  which  lay  a  multitude  of 
tiny  pink  envelops  that  he  was  distributing  in  town 
and  through  the  college. 

There  was  added  to  Mrs.  Charlton's  invitation  a 
more  informal  note,  begging  that  she  would  persuade 
Miss  Harlowe  and  Lucy  to  honor  them  with  some 
songs  that  evening.  Lucy  demurred  at  once. 

"I  should  be  frightened  to  death,"  she  asserted. 
"You  have  no  idea,  Eunice,  what  a  formidable  thing 
one  of  the  Misses  Perkins's  soirees  is.  Miss  Perkins 
herself  announces  you,  just  as  if  it  were  a  concert,  and 
then  you  are  formally  handed  to  the  piano,  and  not 
a  whisper  is  permitted  while  you  are  performing. 

164 


A  SOIREE  MUSICALE  165 

If  any  one  so  far  forgets  himself  as  to  utter  a  word, 
Miss  Caroline  fixes  him  with  a  stern  eye,  or  Miss 
Phoebe  looks  toward  him  (she  never  looks  at  any 
body)  and  holds  up  a  warning  finger.  You  can  im 
agine  the  painful  and  rigid  attention.  It  would 
frighten  every  atom  of  voice  right  out  of  me." 

Neither  could  Eunice  be  persuaded  to  go  through 
such  an  ordeal  as  Lucy  described;  but  finally  Mrs. 
Charlton  prevailed  upon  them  to  attempt  a  duet.  She 
"  would  be  so  extremely  sorry  not  to  oblige  her  very 
old  and  very  dear  friend,  Miss  Perkins"  was  her 
final  plea,  and  Lucy  confided  to  Eunice  that  she  be 
lieved  mother  was  afraid  not  to  do  anything  Miss 
Perkins  asked  her,  she  stood  in  such  awe  of  her. 

They  had  hard  work  to  decide  which  it  should  be 
of  the  three  duets  which  composed  their  combined 
repertoire.  They  settled  finally  on  "Music  and  Her 
Sister  Song"  as  the  most  dignified  of  the  three,  and 
spent  all  their  spare  moments  until  Friday  in  prac 
tice.  Cindie,  a  devout  lover  of  music,  was  deeply 
impressed,  and  soon  catching  the  refrain,  went  about 
singing  in  her  shrill  soprano,  "Swee — eet  Mew-oo-sic, 
swee-eet  Mew-oo-sic,  Mewsic  and  her  sis-ter  Song,  her 
sis-ter  Song,  her  Sis-ter  Song,"  The  boys  thoroughly 
enjoyed  her  unconscious  caricature  of  the  style  and 
emphasis  Lucy  and  Eunice  were  trying  to  put  into 
their  song,  but  it  became  so  annoying  to  the  principal 
performers  that  Mrs.  Charlton  had  to  be  appealed  to 
at  last  to  silence  Cindie. 

Lucy  might  say  what  she  pleased  about  the  Per 
kins  soirees  musicales,  but  they  were  functions  held 


166  IN  OLD  BELLAIEE 

in  high  esteem  in  Bellaire  society.  They  were  given 
at  regular  intervals  during  the  season,  and  were 
justly  considered  by  the  Misses  Perkins  as  most  effi 
cient  aids  in  the  polishing  process  to  which  their  young 
ladies  were  subjected. 

A  big,  old-fashioned  "double"  house  on  South  Har- 
court  was  the  home  of  the  Misses  Perkins 's  ' '  Seminary 
for  Young  Ladies."  A  broad  flight  of  white  stone 
steps  guarded  by  iron  railings  led  to  the  massive  front 
door,  also  white,  and  flanked  on  either  side  by  nar 
row  side-lights,  curtained  in  green,  while  a  semicir 
cular  window  over  the  door  was  screened  with  a  mar- 
velously  fluted  arrangement  of  green  nun's  cloth  that, 
to  my  childish  eyes,  when  I  had  the  honor  of  being  a 
day  scholar  at  that  celebrated  seat  of  learning,  was 
a  wonderfully  correct  copy  of  the  rising  sun  as  de 
picted  in  my  geography. 

But  the  day-scholars  were  not  admitted  through 
that  ponderous  front  door  into  the  dim  and  stately 
hall  beyond.  Like  all  Bellaire  houses,  a  little  side 
alley  with  a  brick  archway  closed  by  a  high  green  door, 
as  carefully  locked  at  night  as  the  front  door  itself, 
admitted  to  the  garden  and  the  rear  premises;  and 
it  was  through  the  alley  and  through  a  side  door 
opening  from  the  yard  that  the  day-scholars  found 
their  way  to  the  pleasant  school-room. 

Such  delightful  old  gardens  as  those  Bellaire  gar 
dens  were!  Such  pleasant,  odorous  places,  deep  and 
narrow,  running  back  often  two  or  three  hundred 
feet  and  rarely  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  broad.  You 
would  never  guess  what  bowers  of  bloom  lay  behind 


A  SOIREE  MUSICALE  167 

those  plain  trick  walls  where  each  house  elbowed  its 
neighbor  in  unbroken  phalanx  up  and  down  the  long 
blocks  of  the  streets :  gardens  that  rioted  in  bloom,  with 
their  high  walls  draped  in  roses  and  honeysuckles, 
and  bordered  with  neatly  kept  beds  where  every  flower 
bloomed  in  its  season,  from  the  early  crocuses  and 
daffodils  and  hyacinths  to  the  latest  fall  flowers.  A 
straight  walk  between  neatly  trimmed  box  hedges 
ran  down  the  middle  of  Miss  Perkins's  garden  until 
it  reached  the  center,  where  it  divided  in  two  curves 
to  make  room  for  a  circular  arbor  or  kiosk  covered 
with  clematis  and  sweet  yellow  jessamine ;  and  beyond 
the  arbor  it  went  straight  on  again  to  the  clump  of 
fruit-trees  that  overhung  the  lower  wall.  The  grass- 
plots  on  either  side  were  dotted  with  clusters  of  flow 
ering  shrubs,  stately  purple  lilacs,  and  pink  and  white 
altheas  and  fragrant,  creamy  syringas;  and  on  one 
side  of  the  arbor  was  a  venerable  maple-tree,  around 
whose  gnarled  trunk  twined  the  trumpet-creeper, 
festooning  the  hoary  branches  with  long  wreaths  of 
scarlet  flowers. 

In  June  these  Old  Bellaire  gardens  were  a  wilder 
ness  of  roses :  the  fragrant  but  humble  pink  cabbage- 
rose,  from  which  I  suspect  our  florists  have  developed 
that  rose  marvel,  the  haughty  American  Beauty; 
their  beautiful  but  odorless  white  sisters,  and  the  deep 
red  of  the  unprized  Mehecca,  which,  for  aught  I  know, 
was  the  forerunner  of  the  lovely  Jacqueminot.  In 
September  there  were  no  longer  any  fragrant  blooms ; 
the  roses  bore  only  crimson  haws,  and  the  sweet  flowers 

of  early  spring  in  the  borders  had  given  place  to 
12 


168  IN  OLD  BELLAIEE 

stiff  rows  of  heavy-headed  orange  and  red  dahlias, 
and  scarlet  spikes  of  salvia  and  lowly  asters  in  all 
the  shades  of  purple,  from  the  lightest  lavender  of 
the  ribbons  on  Miss  Caroline's  head-dress,  sacred  to 
such  festal  occasions  as  soirees,  to  the  deep  purple 
of  those  reserved  for  more  ordinary  occasions.  Miss 
Caroline  was  at  this  moment  receiving  with  stately 
bows  the  salutations  of  her  guests,  while  she  held 
rigidly  erect  in  her  left  hand  a  "pineapple"  bouquet 
of  these  very  blossoms, — that  ingenious  arrangement 
by  which  flowers  were  divested  of  every  particle  of 
grace  and  welded  into  a  solid  pyramid  which,  save 
for  color  and  fragrance,  had  as  little  claim  to  beauty 
as  a  cabbage.  By  Miss  Caroline's  side  stood  Miss 
Phoebe,  and  they  were  flanked  to  the  right  and  left 
by  a  semicircle  of  bright-eyed  girls,  stately  brunettes 
and  petite  blondes,  in  rich  silks  or  dainty  muslins, 
who  were  formally  presented  to  each  new  arrival. 
They  were  most  of  them  Southern  girls,  many  of  them 
sisters  or  cousins  of  the  young  Tomlinsonians,  and 
carrying  themselves  with  the  haughty  grace  natural 
to  the  Southern  belle. 

These  annual  presentations  of  their  young  ladies  to 
Bellaire  society  were  always  occasions  of  great  pride 
to  the  Misses  Perkins.  They  did  not  confine  them 
selves  to  the  college  circle  in  their  invitations:  there 
was  a  goodly  sprinkling  of  lawyers  and  doctors  and 
judges,  with  their  wives  and  daughters,  and  a  few 
army  officers,  before  whose  brilliant  uniforms  the 
glories  of  the  students,  brave  in  flowered  waistcoats 
and  long-skirted  coats,  paled. 


A  SOIREE  MUSICALS  169 

And  never  had  they  had  such  a  brilliant  array  of 
beauty  to  present  as  was  drawn  up  beneath  the  wide 
arch  between  the  double  parlors  on  this  evening;  and 
little  did  the  proud  Misses  Perkins  dream  that  it  was 
the  last  time  they  should  ever  marshal  such  an  array 
of  youth  and  beauty  in  the  stately  parlors ;  that  the 
storm  brewing  in  the  South,  whose  angry  murmur- 
ings  were  audible  through  the  wildly  raging  tumults 
of  the  fall  elections,  should  burst  before  the  spring 
and  send  those  white  birds  fluttering  in  terror  toward 
their  Southern  homes.  Never  again  would  their  little 
school  know  the  prosperous  days  of  "before  the  War." 
In  more  modest  quarters  and  with  greatly  diminished 
numbers  were  they  destined  for  another  decade  to 
mold  blushing  beauty  on  the  model  of  half  a  century 
ago,  though  still  receiving  from  old  Bellairians  the 
homage  without  which  life  would  have  been  well-nigh 
insupportable  to  them. 

On  a  landing  half-way  up  the  broad,  winding  stairs 
Lucy  and  Eunice  met  their  escorts.  Neither  Willie 
Dayton  nor  Rex  McAllister  was  on  duty  in  that  capa 
city;  somebody  had  got  ahead  of  them,  and  Rex  ut 
tered  a  hasty  malediction  when  he  found  that  it  was 
Mr.  Rogers  who  had  robbed  him  of  the  anticipated 
pleasure.  On  the  arms  of  their  attendants  the  girls 
descended  the  long  flight  of  stairs,  crossed  the  wide 
hall  between  double  lines  of  young  men,  and  went 
through  the  ordeal  of  the  presentation.  To  Lucy,  who 
had  been  through  it  often  before,  it  was  not  quite  so 
much  of  an  ordeal  as  to  Eunice,  who  felt  herself  grow 
ing  more  rigid  and  constrained  with  every  successive 


170  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

bow,  which  etiquette  required  should  be  as  low  and 
sweeping  as  possible,  and  accomplished  without  relin 
quishing  the  arm  of  her  escort.  It  added  to  her  dis 
comfiture  that  she  felt  positive  Rex's  dark  eyes  were 
upon  her,  watching  every  movement ;  for  she  had  seen 
him,  as  she  entered,  leaning  with  negligent  grace 
against  the  mantel,  and  though  she  had  not  dared  to 
life  her  eyes  in  his  direction,  she  felt  his  keen  scrutiny, 
and  imagined  a  smile  of  half-pitying  amusement.  It 
was  with  heightened  color  she  made  her  last  and  most 
embarrassed  bow,  and  Mr.  Rogers,  divining  her  discom 
fort,  sought  for  her  at  once  a  quiet  nook  in  the  back 
parlor  where  she  might  recover  her  composure.  There 
they  were  joined  a  few  moments  later  by  Lucy  and 
Willie,  and,  others  coming  up,  she  was  soon  the  center 
of  a  gay  circle.  Just  as  the  clock  on  the  mantel  chimed 
the  half-hour  which  was  the  signal  for  the  reception 
to  end  and  the  music  to  begin,  Rex  made  his  bow, 
and  at  that  moment  Miss  Perkins's  voice  was  heard 
announcing  the  first  number  on  the  program.  Every 
sound  was  hushed,  and  the  little  circle  widened  out 
and  faced  the  piano,  placed  between  the  windows  in 
the  front  parlor. 

Through  the  long  program  that  followed,  guiltless 
of  the  names  of  Beethoven  or  Wagner,  but  bristling 
with  Thalberg  and  Gottschalk,  prime  favorites  at  that 
day,  Rex  stood  by  the  side  of  Eunice,  who  shared 
a  comfortable  little  sofa  in  the  corner  with  Lucy. 
He  had  solicited  the  honor  of  handing  her  to  the 
piano  when  her  turn  should  come,  and  Eunice  had 
acceded  hesitatingly,  not  sure  but  that  the  honor 
rightfully  belonged  to  Mr.  Rogers  as  her  escort. 


A  SOIREE  MUSICALB  171 

Their  duet  had  been  placed  last  on  the  program,  and 
for  some  time  Eunice  had  been  growing  more  and 
more  nervous.  It  was  not  a  state  of  mind  usual  with 
her.  She  had  sung  to  much  larger  assemblies  at  the 
concerts  at  Mount  Holyoke  without  a  tremor,  but 
there  was  something  alarming  to  her  in  the  stately 
ceremony  Miss  Perkins  insisted  upon,  and  in  the 
exclusiveness  of  the  audience,  where  every  one  either 
knew  her  or  knew  of  her,  and  all  considered  them 
selves  entitled  to  first  rank  as  critics. 

She  was  hardly  conscious  of  her  own  movements 
when  she  heard  their  song  announced  by  Miss  Perkins 
with  an  especial  flourish  of  compliments  on  the 
11  pleasure  they  all  felt  in  having  with  them  a  gifted 
young  lady  from  a  Northern  clime,  who  had  kindly 
consented  to  entertain  them  in  a  vocal  duet,  assisted 
by  our  dear  young  friend,  Miss  Lucy  Charlton. ' '  Then 
Rex  offered  her  his  hand  and  led  her  in  stately  fashion 
through  the  space  cleared  for  her  to  the  piano,  where 
she  was  joined  by  Lucy,  who  had  been  conducted 
thither  in  the  same  manner;  and  together  they  made 
the  low  and  sweeping  curtsey  that  Miss  Perkins 
insisted  upon  as  a  preliminary  ceremony,  and  which 
they  had  been  diligently  practising  during  the  week 
as  they  practised  their  music.  Eunice  seated  herself 
at  the  piano,  but  from  the  moment  she  struck  the 
first  note  she  was  conscious  that  their  duet  would  be 
a  failure. 

It  was  not  nearly  so  bad  as  Eunice's  exaggerated 
sensitiveness  fancied  it.  There  were  one  or  two  dis 
cords  in  the  accompaniment,  and  Eunice  sang  a  little 
flat,  owing  to  her  extreme  nervousness,  but  more  than 


172  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

half  of  her  audience  probably  did  not  detect  either  of 
these  faults.  To  Eunice,  who  felt  that,  both  as  a 
stranger  and  as  the  new  teacher  who  aspired  also  to 
have  music-pupils,  she  was  no  doubt  being  subjected 
to  the  severest  criticism,  it  was  a  frightful  ordeal. 
She  knew  she  was  singing  flat,  and  could  in  no  way 
help  herself;  but,  worse  than  that,  her  voice  sounded 
in  her  ears  like  Cindie's  shrill  squeal,  and  the  whole 
song  seemed  like  a  caricature,  with  that  constant 
repetition  of  the  unmusical  "Music,"  which,  as  they 
sang  it,  sounded  in  her  ears  like  Cindie's  three-syl 
labled  "Mew-oo-sic."  She  wondered  how  they  ever 
could  have  selected  such  a  song,  and  was  sure  every 
body  was  either  laughing  or  only  restrained  from  do 
ing  so  by  courtesy.  She  would  gladly  have  stopped 
in  the  very  middle  of  the  performance  and  fled  from 
the  piano,  and  it  was  only  a  grim  determination  that 
carried  her  through  to  the  very  last  "sis-ter  Song." 
Mr.  Rogers  was  standing  at  a  little  distance  from 
her,  and  his  sensitive  ear  felt  keenly  the  shortcomings 
of  the  music.  Rex,  not  so  musical,  saw  no  faults 
in  the  rendering,  but  simply  did  not  think  it  "a  pretty 
piece."  He  did  see,  however,  that  Eunice  was  nerv 
ous,  and  that  the  pallor,  which  had  been  extreme 
when  she  sat  down  to  the  piano,  had  given  way  to  a 
painful  color.  So,  as  soon  as  he  had  murmured  the 
few  necessary  compliments,  and  while  the  applause— 
which  was  a  matter  of  course  and  did  not  in  any  way 
reassure  Eunice,  though  she  would  have  been  still 
more  miserable  without  it— had  not  yet  ceased,  he 
whispered,  "It  is  warm  here;  let  us  go  out  into  the 


A  SOIREE  MUSICALE  173 

garden,"  and  Eunice  was  glad  to  escape  from  the 
blazing  lights  and  the  crowded  rooms. 

Like  most  Bellaire  houses,  a  low  French  window 
in  the  back  parlor  led  on  to  a  veranda,  and  from 
there,  by  a  short  flight  of  steps,  into  the  garden.  The 
garden  was  hung  with  lanterns,  seats  and  tables  were 
placed  invitingly  in  every  cozy  nook,  and  the  young 
people  had  barely  waited  for  the  end  of  the  program 
to  seek  its  cooler  air  and  softer  lights.  They  were 
thronging  the  veranda,  promenading  up  and  down 
the  long  walk,  or  had  filled  the  arbor  and  all  the 
available  seats.  Rex  sought  a  nook  at  the  very  far 
thest  corner  of  the  garden,  where  he  knew  there  were 
seats  under  a  spreading  apple-tree,  only  to  find  them 
all  occupied.  He  was  annoyed,  and  showed  it  by  an 
impatient  exclamation;  but  a  sudden  thought  struck 
him. 

' '  Never  mind,  Miss  Harlowe ;  if  you  will  come  with 
me,  it  is  only  a  step  to  the  Hetzgar  garden,  and  I 
know  we  can  find  seats  there." 

Eunice  demurred.  She  did  not  want  to  be  again 
led  into  committing  any  impropriety,  but  Rex  was 
eager  and  persistent. 

"It  is  only  three  steps  from  here,  and  I  assure  you 
I  would  not  ask  you  to  go  if  it  were  not  perfectly 
proper.  Besides,  we  can  go  through  the  alley  gate, 
and  no  one  will  ever  know  that  we  have  been  any 
where  but  in  the  garden."  And  then  he  bent  over 
her  and  whispered,  "I  must  finish  the  conversation 
that  was  interrupted  on  Monday,  and  it  is  impossible 
here." 


174  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Sure  that  she  was  doing  what  she  would  regret  later, 
and  yet  feeling  herself  powerless  against  his  impetu 
osity,  Eunice  yielded  and  let  herself  be  led  through 
the  dark  alleyway  and  into  the  street  beyond. 

It  was,  as  Rex  said,  only  a  few  steps  to  the  Hetz- 
gar  garden.  Harcourt  Street  here  makes  a  sharp  bend 
to  the  left  and  a  sudden  decline  to  the  old  Sulphur 
Springs  Road,  so  that  from  a  little  distance  the  gar 
den  seemed  to  close  the  street.  That  rambling  old 
garden  was  the  joy  and  delight  of  Bellairians,  crown 
ing  the  summit  of  the  hill  and  descending  its  slopes 
in  terraces,  where  winding  paths  bordered  by  beds 
of  old-fashioned  flowers  led  to  vine-covered  arbors 
or  grassy  slopes  where  rustic  seats  were  placed  in 
vitingly  under  spreading  lindens  and  maples.  The 
generous  owner,  a  bachelor,  had  given  tacit  permis 
sion  to  the  citizens  to  enjoy  his  garden  freely,  and 
it  had  come  to  be  considered  almost  in  the  light  of  a 
public  park. 

At  the  gate,  standing  invitingly  open,  Eunice  hesi 
tated  again.  It  looked  dark  under  the  trees  that 
arched  the  entrance  and  the  avenue  leading  from  it, 
but  Rex  gave  her  no  opportunity  to  change  her  mind. 
He  was  well  acquainted  with  its  arrangement,  appar 
ently;  and  leaving  the  main  avenue  immediately,  he 
turned  to  the  right  into  a  little  path  that  ran  par 
allel  to  the  street,  and  a  few  steps  brought  them  to 
a  noble  old  elm,  under  whose  drooping  branches  was 
a  rustic  seat.  A  low  hedge  screened  them  perfectly 
from  the  street,  and  yet  did  not  intercept  the  rays 
from  a  neighboring  gas-lamp,  which  threw  a  fantastic 


A  SOIREE  MUSICALE  175 

carpet  of  mottled  light  and  shade  over  the  soft,  thick 
turf.  They  were  so  near  the  street  that  the  voices 
of  the  passers-by  were  plainly  audible,  and  that  gave 
Hex  an  excuse  for  adopting  a  low  and  guarded  tone, 
and  gave  him  also  the  advantage  of  seeming  to  hold 
his  conference  on  extremely  confidential  terms.  He 
plunged  at  once  into  the  heart  of  the  subject. 

"You  have  never  answered  my  question,  Miss  Har- 
lowe.  Can  there  be  no  friendship  between  a  noble 
woman  and  a  man  who  has  better  impulses  than  the 
world  gives  him  credit  for,  and  who  needs  such  a 
friendship?" 

Kex's  question  had  hardly  been  out  of  Eunice's 
mind  since  that  Monday  morning.  Away  from  the 
influence  of  his  soft  tones  and  dark  eyes,  she  could 
decide  there  was  little  sincerity  in  his  pleading.  She 
had  even  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  it  was  only 
another  of  his  many  arts  employed  in  an  idle  flirtation. 
She  had  never  been  quite  ready  to  believe  that,  but 
she  had  come  to  the  decision  that  he  was  not  the  kind 
of  man  that  she  was  willing  to  call  friend,  and  that 
as  she  had  said  before,  there  was  no  common  ground 
of  either  character  or  training  on  which  they  could 
base  a  friendship.  She  intended  to  say  this  to  him 
now  more  plainly  and  more  firmly  than  she  had  ever 
done  before,  and  a  little  sense  of  pique  that  he  should 
consider  her  such  an  easy  dupe  added  to  her  resolu 
tion.  So,  in  her  coldest,  primmest,  and  what  Rex 
would  have  denominated  her  most  "Yankeeish"  man 
ner,  she  said  all  this  to  him. 

Her  tone  sent  the  angry  blood  coursing  through 


176  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Rex's  veins.  For  a  moment  the  old  desire  for  re 
venge,  which  had  almost  been  forgotten  since  the 
incident  of  the  rose,  returned  with  twofold  power. 
He  would  like  to  humble  this  obstinate  little  North 
erner.  "Was  he,  a  proud  and  haughty  South  Carolin 
ian,  to  confess  himself  foiled,  by  a  meek  little  Yankee  ? 
It  was  quite  light  enough  for  Eunice  to  see  the  flash 
ing  eye  and  scornful  smile  with  which  he  listened  to 
her,  and,  determined  though  she  was,  it  half  fright 
ened  and  half  moved  her  from  her  purpose.  When 
she  finished,  Rex  said  quickly : 

"I  will  not  sue  for  your  friendship  any  longer, 
Miss  Harlowe.  I  see  that  it  is  a  boon  you  consider 
me  utterly  unworthy  to  receive.  It  is  reserved,  no 
doubt  for  some  pious  Phi  Kap  who  is  not  only  more 
congenial,  but  has  convinced  you  that  he  is  without 
spot  and  without  blemish." 

It  was  an  utterly  unmanly  speech,  and  that  a  mo 
mentary  but  fierce  jealousy  stung  him  to  make  it 
was  no  excuse,  and  Rex  was  thoroughly  ashamed  of 
it  almost  before  it  was  uttered.  There  was  no  mistak 
ing  whom  he  meant.  Mr.  Rogers  was  Eunice's  only 
Phi  Kappa  Sigma  acquaintance,  and  while  she 
shrank  sensitively  from  the  unmanly  thrust,  she  an 
swered  with  a  hauteur  quite  equaling  his  own : 

"If  you  refer  to  Mr.  Rogers,  Mr.  McAllister,  I 
admit  that  our  tastes  and  views  are  sufficiently  similar 
to  offer  no  obstacle  to  a  friendship,  should  either  of 
us  desire  it;  but  I  question  your  right  to  introduce 
any  one  else  into  this  discussion,  and  if  I  am  to  in 
fer  that  these  are  the  manners  of  a  Southern  gentle- 


A  SOIRE'E  MUSICALE  177 

man,  then  I  am  still  more  convinced  that  we  have 
nothing  in  common." 

Rex  was  in  an  agony  of  shame. 

"Miss  Harlowe,  I  beg  you,  I  entreat  you,  to  forgive 
me.  I  am  utterly  ashamed  before  you.  You  cannot 
be  more  sensible  than  I  how  unmanly,  how  cowardly, 
my  speech  was,  and  I  assure  you  it  was  bitterly  re 
gretted  almost  before  it  left  my  lips.  I  feel  most 
poignantly  how  unworthy  I  am  of  your  friendship, 
and  that  I  have  given  you  a  convincing  proof  of  the 
truth  of  all  you  have  said." 

Eex's  contrition  was  so  genuine  that  Eunice  was 
softened  in  a  moment,  and  it  was  extremely  distaste 
ful  to  her  to  seem  to  be  playing  the  part  of  a  self- 
righteous  Pharisee  toward  this  self-accusing  publican. 
She  wanted  to  express  her  forgiveness  freely  and  say 
something  kind  to  him,  but  freedom  of  speech  was 
difficult  to  Eunice,  especially  if  there  was  to  be  any 
softness  with  it.  It  was  much  easier  for  her  to  utter 
a  haughty  reproof  than  now  to  express  her  forgive 
ness.  There  was  a  little  embarrassment  in  her  man 
ner,  therefore,  when  she  said: 

"Please,  Mr.  McAllister,  do  not  say  anything  more. 
I  can  understand  that  you  spoke  hastily  and  regret  it, 
and  I  shall  try  to  forget  that  you  ever  made  a  speech 
that  I  am  sure  was  not  worthy  of  you;  and  I  must 
have  been  very  unhappy  in  my  choice  of  words  if  I 
conveyed  to  you  any  idea  that  I  thought  you  unworthy 
of  my  friendship.  It  was  only  that  I  thought  we  were 
unwise  to  enter  hastily  into  such  a  compact,  and  I 
feared  it  would  bring  happiness  to  neither  of  us." 


178  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Rex  leaned  eagerly  toward  her  as  she  finished,  and 
spoke  quickly: 

"Miss  Harlowe,  I  am  not  going  to  ask  you  for 
your  friendship  now,  but  I  cannot  think  of  that  little 
rose  that  lies  so  near  my  heart,  nor  remember  the 
night  you  flung  it  down  to  me,  without  making  one 
more  effort  to  win  it.  Will  you  be  my  confessor,  and 
when  I  have  finished  my  confession,  if  you  still  believe 
me  unworthy  of  your  friendship,  you  have  only  to 
say  so.  But  if  you  think  I  need  such  a  good,  true 
friend  as  you  could  be  to  me,  and  you  are  not  afraid 
to  b'e  that  friend,  will  you  not  say  that  as  freely?" 

He  waited  for  Eunice 's  answer,  which  came  slowly : 

"I  will  be  glad  to  hear  you,  and  if  I  can,  I  will 
be  your  friend." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Rex.  Then  he  was  silent  a 
moment.  For  once  in  his  life  he  was  going  to  be  thor 
oughly  honest  and  sincere,  and  he  was  taking  his  cour 
age  in  his  hand.  He  bent  a  little  nearer  and  began 
to  speak  in  a  lower  tone.  Rapidly  and  skilfully  he 
pictured  the  boy,  the  spoiled  idol  of  a  Southern  home, 
whose  word  was  law  to  a  hundred  slaves,  but  growing 
up  at  a  mother's  knee  who  taught  him  to  pray  and  to 
love  her  Bible  and  her  God.  He  pictured  the  brave, 
handsome  father  who  was  his  boyish  ideal,  and  whose 
very  faults  the  boy,  as  he  grew  older,  learned  to  ad 
mire  and  longed  to  imitate;  and  how  he  gradually 
grew  away  from  the  mother's  influence,  following  his 
father  to  all  the  county  races  and  great  political 
gatherings,  proud  to  be  able  to  smoke  his  cigar  or 
clink  his  glass  with  men  who  were  old  enough  to  know 


A  SOIREE  MUS1CALE  179 

better  than  to  encourage  a  youngster  in  such  prac 
tices, — until  finally  his  father,  who  was  proud  of  his 
boy  and  loved  to  have  him  with  him,  began  to  real 
ize  that  he  was  rapidly  coming  to  no  good,  and  hustled 
him  off  to  a  Northern  college,  his  own  Alma  Mater. 
And  with  what  tears  and  prayers  his  mother  had  let 
him  go!  The  memory  of  them  had  returned  to  him 
often  in  the  midst  of  his  wildest  hours.  Since  com 
ing  to  college  he  had  done  many  things  that  he  was 
ashamed  of,  But  never  without  a  protest  of  the  con 
science  his  mother  had  so  carefully  trained  in  boy 
hood.  Never  had  he  done  what  he  knew  would  give 
her  pain  without  suffering  agonies  of  regret  afterward. 

He  had  found  a  good  friend  in  Mrs.  Charlton,  who 
had  not  hesitated  to  counsel,  encourage,  and  scold 
him  when  it  was  necessary ;  and  many  a  time  had  he 
fled  to  the  refuge  of  her  kind  and  motherly  presence 
from  his  reckless  associates  bent  on  some  wild  orgy. 
But  he  had  not  always  sought  to  escape,  and  some 
times  he  had  been  himself  the  most  reckless  leader 
of  them  all. 

"And  when  I  was  at  home  this  last  summer,"  he 
continued,  * '  it  almost  broke  my  mother 's  heart  to  find 
that  I  was  only  growing  more  confirmed  in  my  wild 
ways.  She  was  not  willing  that  I  should  return  to 
college ;  but  it  was  my  last  year,  and  my  father  was 
anxious  that  I  should  graduate,  and  I  promised  that 
I  would  try  to  break  away  from  old  habits  and  wild 
associates.  Almost  from  the  moment  I  first  saw 
you  I  have  felt  that  you  were  sent  as  my  delivering 
angel,  and  you  will  understand  me  when  I  say  that 


180  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

I  never  look  at  you  without  thinking  of  my  mother. 
You  have  inspired  me  with  a  longing  for  something 
nobler  and  better,  and  I  think  that  with  you  for  my 
friend  I  may  attain  to  it.  I  know  my  own  weakness 
and  the  strength  of  old  habits;  but  I  believe  that 
if  I  could  feel  my  wrong-doing  was  going  to  grieve 
you,  it  would  be  the  strongest  safeguard  I  could  have. 
Are  you  willing  to  help  me?  If  you  knew  how  I 
loathe  my  past  and  long  to  cut  free  from  it,  and  yet 
how  helpless  I  feel  in  the  toils  I  have  woven  for  my 
self!" 

Eunice  had  listened  with  mingled  feelings.  She  was 
shocked  at  the  picture  Rex  presented;  for  while  in 
a  vague  way  feeling  that  he  was  "worldly"  and  "un 
godly,"  she  had  not  fancied  him  as  black  as  he  had 
painted  himself.  But,  like  all  good  women,  she  loved 
a  reprobate,  and  was  flattered  by  the  thought  that  she 
might  Be  able  to  save  him.  And,  no  doubt,  Rex  was 
counting  a  little  on  that  amiable  weakness  when  he 
dared  to  draw  so  dark  a  picture.  She  was  not  so 
blinded,  however,  by  the  fascinations  of  the  sinner 
as  not  to  recognize  that  his  mother  ought  to  be  a 
greater  inspiration  to  him  to  do  right  than  a  young 
woman  who  was  almost  a  stranger,  and  that  where 
Mrs.  Charlton,  with  her  charms  and  her  wise  counsel, 
had  failed,  she  could  hardly  hope  to  succeed.  But 
the  role  of  guardian  angel  he  offered  her  was  pecu 
liarly  tempting  to  Eunice's  religious  temperament. 
There  was  a  moment  of  silence  after  he  finished,  while 
she  was  trying  to  frame  a  reply.  Rex  dropped  the 
fan  with  which  he  had  been  playing  all  through  his 


A  SOIREE  MUSICALE  181 

long  recital,  while  his  dark  eyes  bent  on  her  a  look 
of  pleading. 

"Is  it  to  be  my  friend?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice 
intense  with  feeling. 

Eunice  tried  to  answer  calmly : 

"I  am  willing  and  glad  to  be  your  friend,  Mr.  Mc 
Allister,  and  to  help  you  if  I  can;  but  I  have  little 
faith  that  I  can  be  of  any  real  assistance  where  your 
mother  and  Mrs.  Charlton  have  failed,  and  I  do  not 
believe  that  any  reformation  will  be  permanent  that 
is  not  based  on  principle — love  of  the  right  and 
hatred  of  the  wrong.  Your  truest  mentors  are  your 
conscience  and  your  Bible,  and  your  strongest  wea 
pon  of  defense  should  be  prayer." 

Eunice  glowed  with  gentle  enthusiasm.  Her  calm 
eyes,  lifted  fearlessly  to  his,  were  filled  with  a  ten 
der,  holy  light.  Rex's  dark  eyes  drooped  abashed  be 
fore  them.  He  had  been  honest  in  his  confession  and 
in  his  desire  for  her  help ;  but  he  had  so  long  been  ac 
customed  to  calculate  the  impression  he  was  making, 
that,  half  unconsciously  to  himself,  he  had  been  pos 
ing  a  little  in  his  attitude  of  humility  and  repentance. 
He  realized  this  now  in  the  clear  light  of  Eunice's 
earnest  words,  and  was  ashamed.  When  he  lifted 
his  eyes  again  there  was  deep  and  genuine  feeling  in 
them  and  in  his  voice  as  he  said : 

"God  helping  me,  Eunice,  I  will  be  a  better  and  a 
truer  man  from  this  hour." 

"And  God  will  help  you,"  answered  Eunice  softly. 

He  only  replied  by  a  quick  grasp  of  her  hand,  then 
he  rose  to  his  feet. 


182  IN  OLD  BELLAIBE 

"I  do  not  want  to  leave  this  spot,  that  will  al 
ways  be  sacred  to  me;  but  I  know  that  I  ought  not 
to  keep  you  here  longer." 

Eunice  rose  quickly,  too,  with  an  exclamation  of 
alarm.  Time  and  place  had  been  annihilated  to  her, 
so  deeply  had  she  been  interested  in  Rex's  confession, 
and  a  sudden  terror  seized  her  that  she  should  find 
the  soiree  over  and  the  guests  gone.  She  hurried 
Eex  along,  but  when  they  reached  the  alley  gate,  to 
her  dismay  it  was  locked. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  asked  in  a  terrified  whisper. 

For  a  moment  Rex  was  as  dismayed  as  herself  at 
this  unlooked-for  calamity,  but  Eunice  was  looking 
appealingly  to  him  for  help,  and  he  answered : 

"There  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  boldly  through 
the  hall  door.  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  this  annoy 
ance,  and  it  is  my  fault  for  keeping  you  so  long ;  but 
there  is  no  help  for  it  now.  And  remember,"  he 
whispered  as  they  mounted  the  steps,  ' '  the  bolder,  the 
better." 

The  hall  was  filled  with  the  bustle  of  departing 
guests,  and  they  probably  would  have  escaped  un 
noticed  but  that  Mr.  Rogers  stood  near  the  door  and 
saw  them  as  they  entered.  He  cast  a  quick,  suspicious 
glance  at  Rex,  and  then  said  coldly  to  Eunice : 

"Miss  Lucy  has  been  looking  for  you,  Miss  Har- 
lowe;  and  she  desired  me,  if  I  saw  you,  to  ask  you 
whether  you  are  ready  to  go  home." 

"Yes,  I  am  quite  ready,"  murmured  Eunice,  sure 
that  she  looked  like  the  culprit  she  felt. 

Rex  spoke  boldly :  ' '  Then  I  shall  have  to  relinquish 


A  SOIREE  MUSICALE  183 

you  to  Mr.  Rogers,  Miss  Harlowe,  and  I  must  thank 
you  for  a  very  pleasant  walk. "  His  manner  expressed 
nothing  that  the  most  suspicious  observer  could  have 
interpreted  as  more  than  polite  courtesy. 

Eunice  did  not  find  Mr.  Rogers  an  altogether  agree 
able  companion  on  her  way  home.  He  was  courteous, 
but  made  no  effort  to  be  especially  entertaining,  and 
the  burden  of  the  conversation  fell  on  her.  She  made 
strenuous  efforts  to  sustain  it,  but  with  indifferent 
success.  She  was  not  very  well  satisfied  with  the  even 
ing  when  she  reviewed  it  alone  in  her  room.  She  was 
still  mortified  over  what  she  termed  the  "failure" 
of  their  duet,  and  she  fancied  that  she  had  suffered 
in  some  way  in  Mr.  Rogers 's  esteem  by  her  long  ab 
sence  with  Rex ;  and  she  liked  him  and  respected  him 
too  much  not  to  feel  it  keenly. 

She  was  inclined  to  be  a  little  bitter  toward  Rex 
because  he  was  so  constantly  putting  her  in  a  false 
position  and  causing  her  vexatious  regrets.  Yet  her 
last  waking  thoughts  were  of  the  look  and  tone  that 
had  accompanied  his  earnest  words,  "God  helping 
me,  Eunice,  I  will  be  a  better  and  a  truer  man  from 
this  hour." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN  UNCONDITIONAL  SURRENDER 

REX  had  had  a  keen  suspicion  that  Mr.  Rogers  had 
been  responsible  for  the  locking  of  the  gate,  and 
the  fact  that  he  had  been  apparently  on  watch  at 
the  door  strengthened  it.  He  confided  his  suspicions 
to  Willie  Dayton  that  evening  after  they  had  both 
returned  to  their  room,  and  was  amazed  to  see  Willie 
receive  his  confidence  with  an  explosion  of  laughter. 

The  laughter  was  so  long  continued  that  Rex's 
temper  was  fast  rising,  which  Willie  perceiving,  he 
made  an  effort  at  soberness,  and  told  Rex  that  Lucy 
and  he  had  locked  the  gate  most  innocently.  They 
had  gone  through  it,  looking  for  Eunice  and  Rex, 
thinking  it  possible  they  were  walking  up  and  down 
the  pavement  outside,  and  on  their  return  Lucy  had 
suggested  that  it  ought  to  be  locked,  as  she  knew  Miss 
Perkins  usually  kept  it  so  in  the  evening,  and  they 
had  turned  the  key  without  the  remotest  suspicion 
that  they  were  locking  out  Eunice  and  Rex  or  causing 
them  any  annoyance. 

His  explanation  was  interrupted  by  so  many  "Ha- 
ha's"  and  "Ho-ho's"  and  "That  's  too  good"  and 
"I  reckon  I  '11  have  to  tell  Miss  Lucy,"  that  Rex's 

184 


AN  UNCONDITIONAL  SURRENDER          185 

countenance  gradually  relaxed  into  a  grim  smile, 
though  he  threatened  that  if  Willie  knew  what  was 
good  for  him  he  would  tell  nobody.  His  threats  would 
have  had  little  effect,  but  when  he  added  that  he  hoped 
Willie  would  say  nothing  to  any  one  about  it  as  it 
would  certainly  be  very  annoying  to  Miss  Harlowe, 
Willie  sobered  up  at  once,  and  readily  promised  to 
keep  "mum." 

The  fact  that  he  had  suspected  Mr.  Rogers  unjustly 
combined  with  his  new  resolves  for  reformation  to 
make  Rex  feel  more  kindly  toward  him  and  regard 
him  no  longer  as  a  "pragmatical  bigot."  He  began 
to  have  a  respect  for  his  clean,  upright  life,  and  to 
wish  that  his  own  had  been  more  like  it.  Greatly 
to  Mr.  Rogers 's  astonishment,  he  greeted  him  at  their 
next  meeting  with  a  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand;  and 
as  his  manner  lost  entirely  the  superciliousness  that 
had  always  marked  his  treatment  of  the  Pennsylva- 
nian,  Mr.  Rogers  in  his  turn  began  to  regard  the  South 
Carolinian  with  less  severity.  Rex,  determined  to 
make  a  thorough  thing  of  his  reform,  had  been  endea 
voring  to  cut  loose  from  his  wild  associates, — a  diffi 
cult  matter  to  accomplish, — and  therefore  welcomed 
eagerly  the  signs  of  friendship  in  Rogers,  which 
seemed  to  offer  another  sheet-anchor  to  his  shifting 
impulses.  Besides,  he  believed  that  it  would  please 
Eunice,  and  prove  to  her  that  he  was  in  earnest,  if  she 
saw  him  cultivating  friendly  relations  with  the  man 
he  had  spoken  of  so  ungenerously,  and  whom  she  evi 
dently  held  in  high  esteem. 

To  Willie  Dayton  and  to  his  friends  Rex's  reform 


186  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

was  a  source  of  great  delight,  chastened  only  by  the 
fear  that  it  might  not  last;  but  while  they  unobtru 
sively  tried  to  offer  him  all  the  help  possible,  they 
avoided  speaking  to  him  on  the  subject.  Some  of 
his  old  associates  had  not  had  such  delicate  scruples, 
and  had  undertaken  to  scoff  him  out  of  what  they 
called  his  "pious  resolutions";  but  they  shrank  back 
abashed  at  the  lightnings  of  wrath  they  drew  down 
upon  themselves  as,  with  flashing  eyes  and  his  most 
superb  air,  Rex  bade  them  beware  of  how  they  inter 
fered  with  the  private  and  personal  concerns  of  a  gen 
tleman.  Indeed,  he  probably  would  not  have  hesitated 
to  challenge  them  to  a  duel  to  the  death  in  defense  of 
his  conscientious  scruples  and  considered  himself  as 
acting  the  part  of  a  good  Christian  in  so  doing. 

There  was  one  feature  of  Bellaire  life  which  seemed 
to  Eunice  quite  ideal :  every  pleasant  evening  on  these 
warm  autumn  days,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton  held  an 
informal  reception.  It  was  the  doctor's  habit  after 
the  early  tea  to  step  out  of  the  dining-room  on  to  the 
lawn,  and,  with  his  children,  enjoy  the  soft  air,  while 
he  inspected  the  growing  things,  watching  for  new 
buds  or  planning  some  improvements  in  flower-garden 
and  shrubbery.  There  Mrs.  Charlton  joined  him  as 
soon  as  she  had  superintended  the  washing  of  the 
silver  and  the  china  and  glass,  a  ceremony  always  per 
formed  in  the  dining-room  by  Charles  Cook,  junior; 
and  they  were  both  sure  to  be  joined  later  by  two  or 
three  friends  out  for  an  evening  stroll  and  drop 
ping  in  to  have  a  little  chat  with  the  doctor  and  his 
wife  in  their  pleasant  garden. 


AN  UNCONDITIONAL   SURRENDER          187 

Miss  Caroline  and  Miss  Phcebe  were  almost  invari 
ably  of  this  number,  for  in  the  fine  weather  it  was 
this  hour  of  the  day  that  they  selected  for  their  consti 
tutional,  and  Miss  Caroline  dearly  loved  a  bout  of 
argument  with  the  doctor,  or  a  dish  of  gossip  with 
his  radiant  wife.  One  or  two  of  the  professors,  also, 
were  generally  of  the  party — more  often  one  of  the 
bachelors,  but  quite  frequently  a  married  member  of 
the  faculty,  with  or  without  his  wife.  They  strolled 
about  the  winding  paths  of  the  garden  as  they  talked, 
sometimes  stopping  for  a  few  minutes  if  the  discussion 
grew  heated,  but  resuming  their  walk  with  their  seren 
ity  when  the  doctor  managed,  as  he  always  did,  to 
pour  oil  on  the  troubled  waters. 

As  the  evening  grew  later,  they  often  gathered  on 
the  steps  of  the  veranda,  where,  if  one  caught  the 
sound  of  merry  laughter,  it  was  quite  certain  the 
doctor  was  entertaining  his  friends  with  a  good  story ; 
and  sometimes  a  Senior  or  Junior  lingering  near, 
waiting  for  half-past  seven  to  arrive, — the  earliest 
hour  at  which  he  might  present  himself  as  a  caller 
on  the  young  ladies,— tempted  by  the  jovial  sounds 
would  pass  through  the  gate  and  join  the  charmed 
circle.  The  little  receptions  broke  up  when  gathering 
darkness  warned  them  that  they  must  seek  the  house. 
Miss  Caroline  always  gave  the  signal  for  leaving; 
she  felt  that  when  darkness  came  she  must  be  at  home 
to  see  that  her  young  ladies  were  all  safely  shut  in 
with  their  books.  It  was  the  duty  of  a  younger  teacher 
to  take  charge  of  the  study  table,  but  Miss  Caroline 
liked  to  see  for  herself  that  every  young  lady  was  in 
her  place,  so  deeply  rooted  was  her  conviction  that  the 


188  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Tomlinson  students  were  constantly  plotting  to  entice 
her  maidens  to  moonlight  walks  or  other  forbidden 
joys  of  youth.  At  the  defection  of  the  Misses  Per 
kins  the  little  circle  gradually  disintegrated,  when, 
if  there  happened  to  be  any  young  men  coming  in 
to  make  a  call,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton  stopped  in  the 
parlor  a  few  minutes  to  show  a  proper  courtesy  to  the 
young  people,  and  then  Mrs.  Charlton  went  up-stairs 
with  the  children  and  the  doctor  sought  his  study. 

Eunice  enjoyed  these  informal  evenings  keenly. 
She  felt  as  if  heretofore  her  intellectual  and  social 
nature  had  been  half  starved,  and  she  could  hardly 
get  enough  of  the  bright  and  animated  talk  tossed  back 
and  forth  like  a  glittering  ball  from  one  member  of 
the  little  circle  to  another. 

Of  late  there  had  been  a  larger  attendance  at  these 
open-air  receptions,  and  the  talk  had  been  graver,  and 
sometimes  excitement  had  run  high,  and  it  had  needed 
all  the  doctor's  skill  to  keep  his  guests  within  the 
bounds  of  moderation.  The  waves  of  fierce  passion, 
running  mountain-high  in  the  fall  of  '60  over  the 
coming  elections,  beat  fiercely  against  the  walls  of 
Old  Tomlinson.  Most  of  the  students  were  from  the 
South,  and  of  course  intense  in  their  Southern  sym 
pathies;  some  were  from  the  border,  and  tinged  with 
the  views  of  both  sections;  while  a  few  were  uncom 
promising  abolitionists.  The  faculty  were  almost  as 
much  divided  as  the  students.  They  were  of  all 
creeds,  although  when  the  crucial  test  came  they  were 
all  loyal  to  the  old  flag.  The  Misses  Perkins  were 
New  England  born,  but  a  large  part  of  their  lives  had 


AN   UNCONDITIONAL  SURRENDER          189 

been  spent  in  the  South,  their  patronage  was  almost 
exclusively  Southern,  and  the  accident  of  their  birth 
seemed  but  to  add  virulence  to  the  intensity  of  their 
Southern  sympathies. 

In  those  days  a  house  was  often  divided  against  it 
self.  Naturally  Mrs.  Charlton 's  sympathies  were  with 
the  home  and  friends  of  her  youth,  but  not  even 
his  admiration  and  devotion  to  her  could  swerve  the 
doctor  from  the  clear  line  of  duty  and  principle; 
and  Mrs.  Charlton,  who  in  all  small  matters  ruled 
regally  in  her  household,  could  yield  all  the  more 
gracefully  to  her  husband  when  it  came  to  matters 
of  greater  moment.  Only  in  this  one  was  her  heart 
divided  against  itself,  and  it  was  through  a  long  and 
bitter  struggle  that  she  learned  at  last  to  place  her 
love  and  honor  and  loyalty  undividedly  on  the  side 
she  had  chosen  when  she  had  chosen  her  husband. 

But  she  would  not  have  been  Mrs.  Charlton  if,  while 
going  through  this  struggle,  she  had  not  seemed  often 
enthusiastically  on  the  other  side.  It  was  the  last 
gallant  fight  she  was  making  against  a  submission 
all  the  more  complete,  finally,  for  her  long  resistance. 
And  it  would  not  have  been  Dr.  Charlton  if  his  sen 
sitive  soul  had  not  often  been  wounded  to  the  quick 
by  her  swift  thrusts  where,  she  knew  so  well,  his 
love  for  her  made  his  armor  of  truth  and  loyalty  most 
vulnerable. 

One  Saturday  evening  the  little  company  had  di 
vided  itself  into  two  coteries;  in  the  center  of  one 
was  Mrs.  Charlton,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  cheeks 
flushed,  denouncing  in  the  strongest  terms  John  Brown 


190  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

and  his  attempted  insurrection.  No  words  seemed 
intense  enough  to  express  her  loathing  and  horror  of 
a  man  who  could  deliberately  incite  slaves  to  an  in 
surrection,  with  all  its  attendant  horrors.  It  was  the 
anniversary  of  John  Brown's  attack  on  Harper's 
Ferry,  and  some  one  mentioning  that  fact,  it  had 
aroused  Mrs.  Charlton  to  her  denunciation.  It  was 
not  so  many  miles  away  that  it  had  been  made,  and 
some  of  his  band,  fleeing  northward  up  the  valley, 
had  been  taken  near  Bellaire. 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  she  was  saying,  in  tones 
vibrating  with  indignation,  "that  there  could  be 
men  in  the  North  so  lost  to  all  that  is  noblest  and 
best  in  humanity  as  to  uphold  him  in  his  vile  attempt 
to  let  loose  wild  fiends  upon  helpless  women  and 
children?" 

About  her  stood  Professor  Haywood,  Professor  and 
Mrs.  Tiffin,  and  Miss  Caroline  Perkins,  with  Rex  Mc 
Allister  and  Willie  Dayton,  who  had  come  to  escort 
Eunice  and  Lucy  to  choir  rehearsal.  Around  Dr. 
Charlton  had  gathered  Professor  Harkness,  the  other 
bachelor  of  the  faculty,  and  Professor  Fieldman  and 
his  wife.  Insensibly  Eunice  had  drawn  near  Dr. 
Charlton  as  she  saw  Mrs.  Charlton  flash  upon  him  a 
glance  of  superb  indignation,  as  if  on  his  devoted 
head  rested  all  the  sins  of  the  North.  Miss  Phoebe 
hovered  vaguely  between  the  two  parties,  powerfully 
attracted  by  Dr.  Charlton,  whom  she  secretly  but  ar 
dently  worshiped,  yet  not  quite  daring  to  range  her 
self  opposite  Miss  Caroline.  Mrs.  Charlton 's  coterie 
loudly  applauded  her  vehement  speech,  but  the  doctor 


AN  UNCONDITIONAL  SURRENDER          191 

felt  he  would  be  disloyal  if  he  did  not  try  to  soothe 
these  excited  feelings.  He  said  mildly : 

"There  is  no  good  man  at  the  North  who  does  not 
deprecate  the  horrors  of  negro  insurrection,  if  he 
realizes  them.  I  believe  the  trouble  with  John  Brown 
was  that  he  did  not  realize  them.  His  soul  was  so 
filled  with  the  evils  and  wickedness  of  slavery,  he 
could  think  of  nothing  else.  I  believe  him  to  have 
been  an  honest  patriot,  mistaken  only  in  his  methods." 

His  wife  had  been  listening  to  him  with  head 
averted.  She  turned  toward  him  now  like  a  flash  and 
hurled  her  words  at  him  with  ineffable  scorn. 

' '  Evils  and  wickedness  of  slavery !  What  do  you  at 
the  North  know  about  its  evils?  I  know  that  the 
slaves  are  treated  with  all  the  tenderness  and  care  of 
children ;  and  yet  let  some  ignorant,  jealous,  mischief- 
brewing  abolitionist  come  among  them  to  stir  them 
to  revolt,  and  they  become  fiends  incarnate,  and  mur 
der  in  cold  bloood  the  masters  who  have  cared  for 
them !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  if  that  vile  miscreant, 
that  stirrer-up  of  insurrections,  that  murderer  of  wo 
men  and  children,  had  appeared  among  us,  you  would 
not  have  handed  him  over  at  once  to  suffer  the  utmost 
rigors  of  the  law?  Those  who  would  aid  and  abet 
such  a  foul  murderer  are  murderers  themselves. ' ' 

In  her  intense  feeling  she  had  extended  her  right 
arm,  and  unconsciously  looked  as  if  she  were  denounc 
ing  her  husband.  We  were  all  abashed,  and  hardly 
knew  where  to  look.  We  had  always  known  that  Mrs. 
Charlton  was  a  high-spirited  woman,  and  had  liked 
her  the  better  for  it;  but  that  she  should  break  out 


192  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

into  such  wrathful  invective,  and  apparently  against 
Dr.  Charlton,  our  hero  and  saint,  and  the  husband 
^ve  knew  she  adored,  we  could  not  comprehend. 

Lucy  stood  with  drooping  head  and  the  hot  color 
flaming  in  her  cheeks,  and  little  Millicent,  who  had 
been  standing  by  her  mother,  listening  to  all  that  had 
preceded  with  wide-eyed  interest,  now  stole  to  her 
father's  side  and  took  his  hand  as  if  to  protect  him, 
while  she  looked  from  him  to  her  mother  in  terrified 
perplexity. 

Dr.  Charlton  himself  had,  in  the  beginning  of  her 
speech,  watched  her  with  a  troubled  expression,  and 
as  she  grew  more  vehement  dropped  his  eyes  in  pained 
embarrassment.  As  she  uttered  the  last  sentence, 
her  arm  extended  toward  him,  her  head  thrown  back, 
her  eyes  flashing,  her  whole  figure  breathing  magnifi 
cent  denunciation,  he  raised  his  eyes  quickly  and 
looked  straight  into  hers.  There  was  trouble  and  pain 
in  his  glance,  but  there  was  fire  also,  such  as  we  had 
never  seen  in  those  blue  eyes. 

"Millicent!"  he  said. 

His  tone  was  not  raised,  but  there  was  such  ringing 
command  in  it  that  we  were  all  electrified.  As  for 
Mrs.  Charlton,  we  could  see  self-consciousness  return 
ing  in  her  softening  glance  and  slowly  sinking  arm. 
The  doctor  held  her  for  a  moment  as  if  fascinated  by 
his  steady  look;  then  swiftly  the  color  receded  from 
her  face,  leaving  her  deadly  pale.  She  sprang  for 
ward  with  a  low  cry— "Oh,  Robert!"— and  seized 
Dr.  Charlton's  hand,  looking  up  into  his  face  with 
piteous  repentance  in  her  imploring  eyes. 


AN  UNCONDITIONAL  SURRENDER          193 

"Can  you  forgive  me?  I  never  meant  it,"  she 
whispered. 

We  saw  the  fire  in  the  doctor's  blue  eyes  quenched 
in  a  sudden  mist.  He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips  with 
courtly  old-world  grace,  and  then  drew  it  through  his 
arm  and  held  it  there,  while  Millie  stole  round  to  her 
mother's  side,  and  clung  to  her  dress,  her  face 
wreathed  in  happy  smiles. 

We  had  all  been  so  intensely  interested  in  the  little 
drama  that  we  had  forgotten  to  be  embarrassed;  but 
as  Mrs  Charlton  turned  toward  us,  and  we  saw  her 
face  rosy  as  a  girl's,  her  drooping  figure  and  down 
cast  eyes,  we  began  to  realize  that  to  the  principal 
actors  any  spectators,  even  those  with  the  kindliest  in 
terest,  would  seem  de  trop. 

But  the  doctor,  with  his  usual  tact,  relieved  our  fast- 
rising  discomfort.  He  said  with  his  genial  smile: 

"The  war  is  over,  friends.  The  South  and  the 
North  are  reunited.  Let  us  take  it  as  a  happy  omen 
that  nothing  more  serious  than  a  difference  of  opinion 
will  ever  disturb  the  Union." 

And  Mrs.  Charlton,  lifting  her  head  and  looking 
at  us  bravely  but  with  shining  eyes,  added : 

"And  please,  dear  friends,  forget  that  I  was  ever 
guilty  of  making  'a  scene.'  It  is  all  because  I  am 
such  a  hot-headed  Southerner.  But  I  am  not  a 
Southerner  any  more.  I  am  a  United-Stateser."  And 
then  looking  up  at  the  doctor  with  a  radiant  smile: 
"I  love  the  North,  and  I  am  sorry  they  ever  caught 
John  Brown." 

After  that  there  were  a  few  minutes  of  unusually 


194  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

animated  conversation,  everybody  trying  to  talk  as 
lightly  and  carelessly  as  possible,  and  then  the  little 
company  broke  up,— Miss  Caroline,  as  usual,  going 
first,  and  saying  in  her  most  punctilious  fashion, 
"Good  night,  Dr.  Charlton.  Good  night,  Mrs.  Charl- 
ton.  We  have  had  a  delightful  evening."  And  then 
a  sudden  remembrance  seemed  to  strike  her :  ' '  That  is 
— ah— most  interesting,  I  am  sure." 

But  it  was  Professor  Harkness  who  surprised  the 
doctor  and  his  wife.  He  lingered  until  after  the 
other  guests  had  taken  their  leave,  and  then  said  with 
a  pompous  gallantry  that  would  have  been  laughable 
only  that  it  was  accompanied  with  such  genuine  feel 
ing,  ' '  Will  you  permit  me,  madam,  to  express  my  ad 
miration  and  respect";  and  awkwardly  bending  his 
huge  head,  for  probably  the  first  and  only  time  in 
his  life  he  lifted  a  lady's  hand  to  his  lips. 

Eunice  and  Rex,  Lucy  and  Willie,  had  gone  to  choir 
rehearsal,  and  for  over  an  hour  Mrs.  Charlton  was 
busy  with  the  younger  children,  looking  after  their 
Saturday-night  baths  and  seeing  them  safely  into 
bed.  There  were  no  studies  on  Saturday  evening,  and 
George  Edgar  and  Henry  Sidney  were  playing  a  quiet 
and  amicable  game  of  chess.  There  were  times  when 
Mrs.  Charlton  appreciated  the  game— when  it  could 
keep  her  noisy  boys  still  and  out  of  all  mischief  for 
an  hour  or  two.  Seeing  them  wholly  engrossed  now, 
and  the  little  ones  all  asleep,  she  stole  softly  away  to 
the  doctor's  study.  Dr.  Charlton  was  bent  over  his 
big  table,  littered  with  books  and  papers,  writing  dili- 


AN  UNCONDITIONAL  SURRENDER          195 

gently,  and  she  came  in  so  quietly  that  he  did  not 
hear  her  until  she  laid  her  hand  softly  on  his  shoul 
der.  Then  he  whirled  around  quickly  in  his  revolv 
ing  chair;  but  before  he  had  time  to  speak  she  said 
hastily  and  with  a  quivering  lip : 

"Were  you  dreadfully  ashamed  of  me  this  evening, 
dear?  Oh,  will  I  ever  learn  to  govern  my  temper?" 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  an  adoring  gaze,  and 
putting  his  arms  around  her  slender  waist,  drew  her 
down  to  a  seat  upon  his  knee. 

"I  think  it  was  the  proudest,  happiest  moment  of 
my  life,  my  love,  when  you  proved  to  my  friends 
that  my  wife  is  not  more  beautiful  and  high-spirited 
than  she  is  noble  and  loving." 


CHAPTER  XV 

OP  THE  SAME  OPINION 

EUNICE  and  Rex  walked  silently  down  Lovers' 
Lane,  their  thoughts  on  the  same  subject,  but 
Eunice  at  least  not  caring  to  give  them  utterance. 
Suddenly  Rex  spoke: 

"Was  n't  she  splendid!  I  can  hardly  tell  whether 
I  liked  her  most  in  her  scornful  or  in  her  repentant 
mood,  she  was  so  grand  in  one  and  so  lovable  in 
the  other.  I  have  always  thought  her  the  most  delight 
ful  woman  in  the  world,  and  now  I  think  she  is  ador 
able.  What  a  happy  man  Dr.  Charlton  must  be  to 
possess  the  heart  of  such  a  superb  creature!  He  is 
one  of  the  best  of  men,  but  no  man  can  be  worthy 
of  such  a  woman 's  love ! ' ' 

Rex  spoke  with  glowing  enthusiasm  and  with  the 
extravagance  natural  to  him ;  but  his  admiration  was 
sincere,— there  was  no  mistaking  that,— and  Eunice 
marveled. 

She  had  been  much  troubled  for  Mrs.  Charlton. 
She  also  admired  her  greatly,  but  the  impetuous  lit 
tle  scene  through  which  they  had  just  passed  was  al 
most  incomprehensible  to  her  colder  nature.  There 
had  been  a  tinge  of  the  theatrical  about  it  to  her,  and 

196 


OF  THE  SAME  OPINION  197 

her  sympathies  had  been  all  with  Dr.  Charlton,  while 
she  had  felt  only  the  keenest  mortification  for  Mrs. 
Charlton.  She  had,  indeed,  admired  her  for  the 
quick  repentance  she  had  shown,  but  she  felt  so  sure 
that  she  must  have  lost  caste  with  all  those  people 
whom  she  was  accustomed  to  rule  regally  that  her 
admiration  was  much  tinged  with  pity.  To  find  that 
she  had  gained  instead  of  losing,  with  Hex  at  least, 
and  probably  with  them  all,  was  both  a  relief  and  an 
annoyance.  It  was  a  relief  because  she  loved  and 
admired  Mrs.  Charlton,  but  inbred  instinct  and  life 
long  training  had  taught  her  that  all  display  of  emo 
tion  in  public  was  at  least  in  questionable  taste ;  and 
it  was  distinctly  annoying  to  find  that  here  one  not 
only  did  not  suffer  the  proper  penalty  for  such  a  sin 
against  good  taste,  but  seemed  to  gain  by  it  a  further 
apotheosis. 

It  is  barely  possible,  too,  that  Eunice's  annoyance 
was  not  entirely  impersonal.  In  the  scene  through 
which  they  had  just  passed  there  had  been  in  the  back 
ground  of  her  consciousness  a  comfortable  sense  that 
a  calm  and  self -controlled  woman,  to  whom  such  a  dis 
play  of  emotion  would  be  impossible,  must  appear 
to  immense  advantage  in  the  eyes  of  an  interested 
witness.  This  little  fabric  of  self-esteem  that  she  had 
so  unconsciously  built  up,  Kex's  speech  rudely  shat 
tered,  and  she  did  not  find  the  act  of  demolition  a 
pleasant  one. 

She  often  wondered  why  she  wished  to  stand  so  well 
in  the  estimation  of  Rex  McAllister.  She  had  been 
sure,  almost  from  the  beginning  of  their  acquain- 


198  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

tance,  that  he  was  not  the  kind  of  man  who  could 
ever  be  to  her— she  put  it  blushingly— more  than  a 
pleasant  friend.  There  were  certain  qualities  she  de 
manded  in  a  man  that  seemed  to  be  preeminently 
absent  in  Rex.  Chief  among  them  was  moral  strength. 
Thorough  respect  and  admiration  for  a  man's  moral 
nature  must  with  her,  she  felt  sure,  precede  any 
softer  emotion.  Rex  had  apparently  made  a  thor 
ough  reformation,  or  was  making  it;  and  while  his 
appeals  to  her  for  help  touched  her  and  she  was 
more  than  willing  to  extend  a  helping  hand  toward 
him,  she  assured  herself,  with  a  touch  of  scorn  when 
some  occasional  word  or  look  of  his  seemed  to  ask  for 
something  more  than  mere  friendliness,  that  she  would 
never  be  a  moral  crutch  for  the  man  she  loved. 

Yet  she  had  to  confess  that  there  was  no  one  to 
whose  opinion  she  was  so  supremely  sensitive.  She 
trembled  lest  she  should  ever  appear  to  him  less  of 
an  angel  of  light  than  he  had  called  her  in  the  Hetz- 
gar  garden.  The  fear  gave  her  more  of  constraint 
with  him  than  with  any  one  else,  and  in  hours  of 
morbid  self-dissection,  which  "were  not  infrequent 
with  Eunice,  she  accused  herself  of  posing  before  him, 
mentally  and  morally. 

That  he  should  so  ardently  admire  in  Mrs.  Charlton 
the  very  characteristics  which  seemed  to  Eunice  least 
admirable,  and  which  she  knew  were  impossible  to 
herself,  caused  her  a  keen  thrill  of  mortified  vanity. 
She  could  perceive  now  that  of  course  an  impulsive, 
frank,  and  generous  nature  like  Mrs.  Charlton 's  was 
the  very  kind  to  appeal  most  powerfully  to  a  bold, 


OF  THE  SAME  OPINION  199 

impetuous,  hot-headed  Southerner,  and  that  he  could 
never  feel  more  than  a  passing  attraction  to  a  tempera 
ment  so  utterly  antipodal  as  her  own;  and  the  per 
ception  did  not  give  her  the  pleasure  that  she  felt 
it  ought. 

All  these  shades  of  feeling  tinged  a  little  Eunice's 
formal  response  to  Ilex's  panegyric: 

"I  admire  Mrs.  Charlton  extremely,"  she  said, 
"and  love  her  very  much.  No  mother  could  have 
been  kinder  and  more  tender  than  she  has  been  to  me 
since  I  have  been  in  her  house ;  but  I  confess  the  scene 
through  which  we  have  just  passed  was  very  painful 
to  me,  and  I  am  not  sure  I  admire  all  of  Mrs.  Charl 
ton 's  part  in  it.  What  I  did  admire  most  thoroughly 
was  the  perfect  self-control  Dr.  Charlton  exhibited, 
and  the  masterful  way  in  which  he  brought  Mrs. 
Charlton  to  a  consciousness  of  the  fact  that  she  had 
gone  too  far.  There  is  nothing  so  fine  as  moral  sub 
limity  !  And  there  was  something  of  it  in  Dr.  Charl 
ton  's  look  and  tone  when  he  said,  '  Millicent ! '  ' 

It  was  Rex's  turn  now  to  feel  nettled,  but  he  con 
ceded  at  once: 

"Oh,  yes;  the  doctor  was  fine.  He  quite  thrilled 
me."  And  then  he  added  a  little  bitterly,  "Although 
there  is  no  moral  sublimity  about  me, — hardly  moral 
mediocrity,  I  fear  you  think, — I  can  appreciate  it  in 
others,  and  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  there  is  no 
thing  so  fine  or  so  worthy  of  admiration  in  a  man." 

The  touch  of  bitterness  in  Ilex's  speech  was  rather 
pleasing  than  otherwise  to  Eunice,  but  she  had  no 
special  answer  to  make,  and  they  turned  to  other 

14 


200  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

topics.  But  for  some  reason  conversation  languished. 
They  neither  of  them  seemed  inclined  to  talk,  and 
Rex  particularly  was  fast  lapsing  into  one  of  the 
moods  Eunice  had  noticed  in  him  frequently  of  late; 
she  was  never  quite  sure  whether  they  were  tinged 
with  sullenness  or  melancholy,  but  in  either  case  they 
made  him  silent  and  abstracted. 

Choir  rehearsal  had  been  held  in  the  church  for 
the  last  few  weeks,  because  the  weather  was  still  pleas 
ant  enough  to  require  no  special  heating  of  the  edi 
fice,  and  it  saved  the  trouble  of  conveying  all  the 
books  and  music  to  the  private  house  where  the 
rehearsal  might  be  held,  and  then  getting  them  back 
again  in  time  for  service  the  next  morning.  It  was  not 
quite  such  a  pleasant  social  arrangement,  and  the 
young  folks  would  be  rather  glad  when  the  cold  wea 
ther  should  drive  them  back  to  the  cozy  parlors  again. 

Rex  escorted  Eunice  to  the  choir-gallery,  and  then 
betook  himself  to  the  lower  part  of  the  house,  where, 
seeking  a  cushioned  pew  (they  were  not  all  cushioned 
— only  those  belonging  to  the  faculty  and  a  few  of 
the  wealthier  families),  he  threw  himself  in  a  half- 
reclining  attitude  on  the  seat  and  gave  himself  up  to 
a  moody  reverie.  There  was  no  gas  lighted,  except 
in  the  choir,  and  the  twilight  gloom  in  this  part  of 
the  church  was  particularly  favorable  to  that  pas 
time.  From  his  position,  with  his  head  resting  on 
the  high  center  railing  that  divided  the  pews,  he 
could  see  Eunice  very  distinctly,  and  even  watch 
the  changing  expression  of  her  face,  thrown  into 
strong  relief  by  a  Blazing  gas-jet  beside  her.  He  him- 


OF  THE  SAME  OPINION  201 

self  was  invisible  or  nearly  so,— only  an  indistinct 
blur,  if  one  shaded  his  eyes  in  the  choir,  revealing 
his  location. 

His  mood  was  more  one  of  irritability  than  melan 
choly.  He  was  almost  getting  tired  of  his  reform 
attitude;  he  began  to  think  it  did  n't  pay.  Some  of 
the  boys  of  his  fraternity  were  going  off  on  an  es 
pecial  lark  that  very  night,  and  had  besought  him  to 
join  them,  and  he  half  wished  now  that  he  had  not 
held  out  so  firmly  against  them.  He  had  had  a  note 
from  Miss  Lydia,  too,  inviting  him  to  a  card-party  at' 
her  house  for  that  evening,  and  he  had  sent  regrets, 
pleading  a  previous  engagement.  He  had  not  seen 
Miss  Lydia  for  several  weeks.  He  knew  that  the  sud 
den  ceasing  of  his  attentions  must  have  at  least 
aroused  her  curiosity— perhaps,  he  thought  half  re 
gretfully,  given  her  some  pain. 

In  declining  both  these  offers  of  amusement  for 
the  evening,  he  had  felt  more  than  compensated  in 
the  thought  of  the  walk  to  and  from  rehearsal  with 
Eunice;  but  somehow  he  had  not  altogether  enjoyed 
the  walk  as  he  had  expected.  There  was  certainly 
something  antagonistic  in  their  natures.  He  had  felt 
it  this  evening;  he  believed  he  had  half  felt  it  once 
or  twice  before.  It  was  not  that  she  was  so  good; 
he  liked  goodness  in  a  woman,  and  he  was  trying  very 
hard  to  be  "good"  himself  now,— but  it  was  that  she 
expected  too  much  of  a  man ;  nothing  would  ever  sat 
isfy  her,  but  some  saint  like  Dr.  Charlton.  Life  with 
such  a  woman,  he  believed,  would  be  a  constant 
strain;  there  would  be  no  rest,  no  moral  undress, 


202  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

no  lounging  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  but  al 
ways,  morally  speaking,  arrayed  in  shiniest  black 
broadcloth,  high  collars,  and  tight  boots.  He  was 
inclined  to  think  there  was  more  real,  every-day  com 
fort  in  a  girl  like  Lydia  McNair,  who  did  not  require 
you  to  live  up  to  some  high  ideal,  and  was  quite  will 
ing  to  allow  you  a  moderate  indulgence  in  your  small 
vices  so  long  as  they  were  gentlemanly  ones. 

At  this  point  in  his  reverie  he  saw  Mr.  Rogers 
turn  to  Eunice  and  say  something,  and  as  she 
looked  up  at  him  to  reply  it  seemed  to  Eex  that  there 
was  a  wonderful  sweetness  in  her  smile  that  for  the 
moment  quite  transfigured  her.  He  saw  it  with  quick 
pain.  Could  it  be  possible  she  loved  Rogers?  She 
never  smiled  so  sweetly  and  so  frankly  on  him.  He 
had  often  noticed  and  been  a  little  annoyed  by  her 
constrained  way  of  smiling.  Of  course  Rogers  was 
the  very  man  for  such  a  woman  as  Eunice.  He  could 
see  it,  now  that  his  old  dislike  of  him  had  given  place 
to  friendliness.  He  wondered  he  had  not  thought  of 
it  before.  Yes,  Rogers  came  as  near  being  morally 
grand  and  morally  strong  as  any  young  man  he  knew. 
Well,  was  he  not  willing  ?  He  had  never  quite  decided 
in  his  own  mind  that  Eunice  was  the  kind  of  woman 
he  wanted  for  a  wife,  though  the  attraction  she  had 
had  for  him  had  been  greater  than  any  woman  had 
ever  had  before.  He  stopped  at  this  point  to  think  it 
out,  and  then  he  suddenly  sat  erect,  and  bringing  one 
clenched  hand  down  violently  but  noiselessly  on  the 
cushioned  seat,  he  said  through  his  set  teeth  : 

"No,  I  am  not  willing!" 


OF  THE  SAME  OPINION  203 

The  words  had  actually  passed  his  lips,  and  at  the 
sound  he  smiled  at  his  own  vehemence,  and  then  con 
gratulated  himself  that  there  was  no  one  to  hear  them. 

To  his  astonishment,  a  woman's  voice  just  behind 
him  said: 

''Not  willing  to  do  what,  Mr.  McAllister?" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  turned  to  meet  Lydia 
McNair.  His  eyes  had  been  so  steadfastly  fixed  on  the 
brightly  lighted  gallery,  and  one  illuminated  face 
there,  that  it  had  prevented  his  seeing  her  entrance, 
and  the  choir,  singing  with  full  voice  and  great  en 
ergy  the  triumphant  paean,  "On  cherubim  and  sera 
phim  full  royally  he  rode,"  had  effectually  drowned 
the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps.  Miss  Lydia,  be 
ing  extremely  High-church,  and  a  little  bigoted  withal, 
was  the  last  person  he  would  have  expected  to  see  at 
a  Presbyterian  choir  rehearsal.  The  card-party  to 
which  he  had  been  invited  occurred  to  him  also,  and 
he  could  not  understand  how  Miss  Lydia  could  be 
absent  from  it;  but  he  had  such  entire  faith  in  her 
always  doing  the  unaccountable  thing  that  he  was  not 
quite  free  from  a  suspicion  that  she  had  come  to  com 
pel  his  attendance  at  it. 

Miss  Lydia  said  in  answer  to  his  expression  of 
surprise  at  meeting  her  there : 

"Your  defection  spoiled  our  card-party,  and  it  was 
such  a  beautiful  evening  Lieutenant  Watson  proposed 
a  walk.  We  heard  the  music  as  we  passed  the  church, 
and  stepped  in  to  listen  to  it.  I  thought  I  recognized 
you,  though  I  was  not  absolutely  sure,  it  was  so  dark ; 
and  I  told  the  lieutenant  I  was  coming  to  talk  to 


204  IN  OLD  BELLAIBE 

you,  and  he  could  go  up-stairs  and  listen  to  the  music 
and  visit  with  the  young  ladies,  and  I  would  send 
for  him  when  I  was  ready  to  go." 

Rex  knew  Miss  Lydia  was  quite  capable  of  giv 
ing  one  cavalier  a  furlough  when  she  felt  like  talk 
ing  to  another.  He  glanced  up  at  the  gallery  and 
saw  the  lieutenant  in  a  back  seat  patiently  listening 
to  the  singing  and  not  looking  particularly  happy. 
He  felt  sorry  for  him,  and  also  felt  rather  uncom 
fortable  for  himself. 

"I  'm  in  for  it  now,"  he  thought;  and  he  did  not 
doubt  for  a  moment  that  Miss  Lydia  intended  to  call 
him  to  account  for  his  desertion  of  her.  His  con 
science  told  him  that  his  devotion  had  been  too  marked 
and  too  distinctly  expressed  not  to  give  her  a  right  to 
demand  an  explanation.  It  was  with  some  embarrass 
ment,  therefore,  that  he  asked  her  to  sit  down,  and 
seated  himself  in  the  pew  in  front  of  her,  where 
he  could  lean  on  the  back  and  be  comfortably  vis-d-vis. 

He  expected  her  to  plunge  at  once  into  the  subject, 
for  Miss  Lydia  was  not  given  to  using  gloves  in  hand 
ling  a  delicate  question ;  but,  to  his  relief,  she  did  not 
touch  upon  any  personal  topic,  but  entered  into  a  lively 
discussion  of  several  subjects  of  mutual  interest,  until 
he  found  himself  enjoying  her  frank  comments  and 
keen  repartee  with  quite  the  old  relish.  His  fears 
were  fast  being  lulled  when  she  suddenly  turned  to 
him  and  said  in  a  low  tone  and  with  an  entirely  dif 
ferent  manner: 

"Mr.  McAllister,  I  hope  you  are  not  flirting  with 
the  little  school-ma'am." 


OF  THE  SAME  OPINION  205 

Rex  had  used  the  epithet  "little  school-ma'am" 
quite  freely  himself  in  the  beginning  of  his  acquain 
tance  with  Eunice,  but  it  struck  harshly  on  his  ears 
now.  Neither  did  he  like  the  term  "flirting"  as  ap 
plied  to  his  relations  with  her.  So  he  said  quite 
stiffly:  "Certainly  not,  Miss  Lydia,"  and  then,  with 
an  effort  at  lightness,  "Did  you  ever  know  me  to  be 
guilty  of  flirting  with  any  one?" 

"Yes,  certainly,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  quickly;  "but 
there  has  been  some  excuse  for  you  when  you  indulged 
in  it  with  those  who  were  supposed  to  be  quite  able 
to  protect  themselves  and  were  not  principled  against 
the  pastime.  You  know  it  is  different  with  Miss  Har- 
lowe.  She  is  a  sweet,  good,  true  little  woman— and 
lovely,  I  think.  I  am  quite  taken  with  her.  But 
she  is  perfectly  unsophisticated,  and  is  the  kind  of 
woman  that  I  should  suppose  would  appeal  to  a 
man's  best  nature  to  protect  her  from  himself.  I 
have  been  thinking  about  her  and  worrying  about 
her  for  weeks.  Of  course  I  have  known  why  you 
have  deserted  your  old  friends,  and  at  last  I  made 
up  my  mind  I  would  see  you  and  make  an  appeal  to 
you  in  her  behalf." 

She  had  spoken  rapidly,  and  Rex  was  bewildered 
by  her  accusation  and  by  the  genuine  feeling  in  her 
tones.  Still  he  thought  it  was  hardly  a  matter  Miss 
Lydia  had  a  right  to  concern  herself  with,  and  he 
said  in  his  coldest  way — and  it  could  be  quite  freez 
ing  when  he  chose: 

"You  do  me  great  honor,  Miss  Lydia,  when  you 
suggest  that  I  am  able  to  disturb  the  peace  of  mind 


206  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

of  any  young  lady.  I  shall  begin  to  consider  myself 
quite  a  dangerous  fellow." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  before  Miss  Lydia 
answered  in  a  voice  that  trembled  in  spite  of  herself : 

"You  are  a  dangerous  fellow,  Rex  McAllister,  and 
you  know  it." 

There  was  a  time  when  Rex  might  have  secretly 
rejoiced  at  this  evidence  of  his  power,  and  would 
probably  have  taken  advantage  of  it  by  responding 
with  some  tender  nonsense.  Now  he  was  shocked  to 
find  that  there  seemed  to  be  more  seriousness  in  Miss 
Lydia 's  feeling  toward  him  than  he  had  dreamed, 
and  it  kept  him  silent  for  a  few  moments.  When  he 
spoke  again,  his  coldness  and  his  flippancy  were  both 
gone,  and  he  said  earnestly : 

"Miss  Lydia,  I  am  afraid  I  deserve  your  poor 
opinion  of  me.  I  have  not  always  shown  myself  to  you 
as  the  honest  and  honorable  gentleman  I  should  like 
to  be  and  should  like  you  to  think  me.  Shall  we 
let  bygones  be  bygones  and  begin  all  over  again?  I 
should  like  to  have  a  chance  to  prove  myself  a  friend 
you  could  thoroughly  respect  and  trust." 

He  waited  so  long  for  the  reply  that  he  began  to 
be  troubled.  Could  it  be  possible  she  was  crying  ?  It 
was  too  dark  to  see,  but  he  fancied  he  distinguished 
suspicious  little  movements  and  sounds.  Miss  Lydia 
in  tears !  It  was  inconceivable,  and  the  thought  filled 
him  with  amazement  as  much  as  pity,  and  almost  with 
more  embarrassment  than  either.  What  should  he  do  ? 

But  Miss  Lydia  did  not  leave  him  long  in  perplex 
ity.  With  a  briskness  of  tone  and  a  lightness  of  man- 


OF  THE  SAME  OPINION  207 

ner  that  the  occasion  hardly  seemed  to  demand,  she 
answered : 

"I  have  always  liked  you  very  well  as  you  were, 
Mr.  McAllister,  but  I  shall  not  object  to  a  revised 
edition  of  our  friendship  if  you  desire  it,— especially 
since  I  hope  your  new  attitude  argues  well  for  the 
little  school-mistress. ' ' 

Rex  was  irritated  by  her  flippancy,  and  he  replied 
with  an  approach  to  severity : 

"You  need  not  fear  for  Miss  Harlowe;  if  either  of 
us  suffers  in  the  affections  through  our  acquaintance, 
it  will  not  be  she." 

There  was  another  perceptible  pause  on  Miss 
Lydia's  part,  and  then  she  said  softly  and  with  a 
sweetness  that  surprised  Rex : 

1 '  I  am  quite  sure  of  that,  Mr.  McAllister.  And  now, 
would  you  mind  calling  the  lieutenant?  I  must  be 
going." 

Rex  was  certain  once  more  that  Miss  Lydia  had  been 
strongly  moved,  and  he  believed  he  understood  why. 
It  was  because  she  had  recognized  the  finality  in  what 
he  had  said:  the  end  of  all  their  old  relations.  It 
filled  him  with  the  keenest  regret  and  tenderest  sym 
pathy,  but  he  could  express  neither  without  still  fur 
ther  wounding  her. 

He  looked  up  at  the  gallery  and  found  a  little  stir 
and  commotion  there ;  rehearsal  was  over  and  the  choir 
were  about  to  go  home.  Rex's  quick  wits  took  in  the 
awkwardness  of  the  situation.  If,  as  he  believed, 
there  were  traces  of  tears  in  Miss  Lydia's  eyes,  it 
would  greatly  embarrass  her  to  meet  the  members  of 


208  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

the  choir  in  the  brightly  lighted  vestibule.  With  quick 
decision  he  called  up  to  Lieutenant  Watson : 

"Lieutenant,  will  you  bring  Miss  Harlowe  down 
stairs  ?  We  will  meet  you  at  the  outside  door. ' ' 

Then  to  Miss  Lydia:  "Come,  we  must  be  quick 
if  we  would  get  down  ahead  of  them. ' ' 

He  drew  her  hand  through  his  arm,  and  hurried 
her  through  the  dark  church.  In  the  bright  vestibule 
he  would  not  even  glance  at  her  lest  he  might  see  the 
traces  of  her  tears,  but,  hearing  the  descending  voices, 
hurried  her  down  the  steps,  and  they  were  outside  in 
the  dark  when  the  others  met  them. 

There  was  the  usual  noisy  interchange  of  greetings 
and  farewells  on  the  pavement,  in  which  Miss  Lydia 
bore  her  part  gaily ;  and  then  Rex  said,  releasing  her 
arm  and  taking  her  hand : 

"Good-night,  Miss  Lydia;  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed 
the  music  so  much  that  you  will  come  to  our  rehearsal 
again  sometime." 

And  she  answered:  "Thank  you,  I  have  enjoyed  it 
extremely ;  perhaps  I  will,  if  Lieutenant  Watson  will 
bring  me."  But  both  of  them  knew  she  never  would. 

Naturally  enough,  it  had  seemed  a  little  strange  to 
Eunice  that  Lieutenant  Watson  should  sit  up-stairs 
and  leave  Rex  and  Miss  Lydia  to  a  tete-a-tete,  and 
then  that  Rex  should  not  at  least  have  met  her  at  the 
foot  of  the  gallery  stairs,  instead  of  waiting  for  her 
with  Miss  Lydia  outside.  She  did  not  understand  it, 
and  there  was  just  a  little  shade  more  of  coldness  and 
reserve  in  her  manner  as  they  walked  home. 

Rex  hardly  noticed  it,  he  was  so  full  of  his  own 


OF  THE  SAME  OPINION  209 

thoughts,  so  sorry  for  Miss  Lydia,  but  so  glad  to  have 
had  this  understanding  with  her  and  to  feel  that  it 
was  all  over  with  and  that  he  was  free  from  any  en 
tanglement  there,  if  there  had  ever  been  any.  Then 
he  was  happy  in  the  mere  feeling  of  that  little  hand 
on  his  arm.  There  had  come  to  him  a  kind  of  revela 
tion  of  his  own  heart,  and  with  it  a  settled  determin 
ation,  when  he  had  said  audibly,  "No,  I  am  not  will 
ing,"  that  filled  him  with  a  feeling  of  strength  and 
happiness.  So  he  did  not  notice  that  Eunice  was  a 
little  more  constrained  and  a  little  colder  than  usual. 

They  had  returned  to  the  topic  of  the  Southern 
difficulties,  and  he  had  been  saying  that  his  last  let 
ter  from  home  was  full  of  forebodings.  His  father 
thought  there  was  trouble  ahead.  He  believed  that 
if  the  Republicans  won  in  the  next  election,  there 
would  be  war ;  the  South  would  never  stand  an  aboli 
tionist  President.  The  feeling  was  at  fever-heat  in 
South  Carolina,  and  he  was  glad  Rex  was  out  of  it. 
He  hoped  it  would  all  quiet  down,  but  he  was  some 
times  afraid  the  South  would  do  something  rash. 
Rex  added  that  his  father  would  deprecate  anything 
rash ;  but  whatever  his  State  did  or  the  South  did,  he 
would  stand  by  it,  for  he  was  heart  and  soul  a  South 
erner. 

The  Iron  Gate  had  just  clanged  behind  them,  and 
they  were  entering  Lovers'  Lane.  Rex  held  Eunice 
back  a  little. 

"You  are  not  in  a  hurry,  are  you?  I  want  to  ask 
you  something— about  Mrs.  Charlton,"  he  added 
quickly,  noting  at  once  the  slight  signs  of  panic  in 


210  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Eunice.  "You  know  she  was  born  and  bred  a  South 
ern  woman.  Do  you  think  it  was  quite  right  in  her 
to  give  up  her  views ;  to  say,  '  I  am  no  longer  a  South 
erner';  to  say  in  effect,  though  not  in  words,  'I  am 
whatever  my  husband  is'?" 

Eunice  thought  a  moment  before  she  answered,  and 
then  she  spoke  slowly : 

"Yes,  I  think  she  was  right.  When  a  woman  mar 
ries  she  leaves  father  and  mother — all — for  her  hus 
band:  and  she  should  give  up  everything  that  could 
create  dissension  between  them.  Of  course  I  do  not 
mean  that  she  should  yield  any  question  of  right  or 
conscience ;  but  when  it  is  a  matter  where  two  people 
might  hold  different  views,  and  both  be  right,  I  be 
lieve  she  should  give  up  hers. ' ' 

When  Eunice  spoke  she  thought  Rex  would  dis 
agree  with  her  and  probably  maintain  vehemently 
that,  born  and  bred  a  Southerner,  it  would  be  trait 
orous  to  yield  her  convictions.  To  her  surprise,  he 
answered  quickly: 

"Thank  you;  I  agree  with  you  perfectly.  I  think 
a  man's  first  duty  is  to  the  land  of  his  birth,  be  he 
born  in  the  North  or  in  the  South,  but  I  believe  that 
a  woman 's  country  should  be  her  husband 's. ' ' 

Nor  did  she  understand  the  slight,  involuntary 
pressure  of  her  arm  as  he  spoke,  and  the  glad  ring 
in  his  voice. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  SAD  GOOD-BY 

REX  had  stated  the  contents  of  his  father's  letter 
very  mildly  to  Eunice,  and  he  was  a  little  afraid 
he  had  betrayed  a  political  confidence  in  saying  as 
much  as  he  had.  What  his  father  had  really  said 
was:  "Secession  is  bound  to  come.  South  Carolina, 
at  least,  is  eager  for  it,  and  will  welcome  the  pretext 
that  the  election  of  Lincoln  will  give  her.  There  are 
some  of  us  who  will  regret  it,  but  we  are  in  a  hopeless 
minority.  Our  leaders  say,  when  we  express  the  be 
lief  that  such  a  step  will  result  in  war,  'The  North 
will  never  fight ;  or,  if  she  shows  fight,  we  will  thrash 
her  so  quickly  she  will  never  know  what  has  hap 
pened  ! '  For  myself,  I  am  not  so  sanguine,  and  I  am 
sometimes  full  of  dark  forebodings.  But  I  am  glad 
you  are  out  of  the  turmoil,  and  I  want  you  to  stay 
there,  no  matter  what  happens,  until  I  send  for  you. 
Tell  Willie  Dayton  his  father  says  he  must  stay  also." 
Rex  read  the  letter  to  Willie,  of  course.  "Stay," 
said  Willie;  "if  my  State  secedes!  No,  sir;  I  will 
have  you  understand,  if  there  is  to  be  war  or  trouble 
of  any  kind,  I  want  to  be  in  it,  and  nothing  shall  keep 
me  here." 

211 


212  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

That  election  of  '60,  and  the  stormy  days  that  pre 
ceded  and  followed  it,  are  too  much  a  matter  of  his 
tory  to  need  any  recalling.  The  election  had  taken 
place,  and  there  was  now  no  longer  any  doubt  about 
Carolina's  seceding.  The  excitement  among  the  stu 
dents  was  intense.  Most  of  them,  like  Rex,  had  re 
ceived  instructions  to  stay  in  Bellaire  until  sent  for; 
but  most  of  them,  like  Willie  Dayton,  were  secretly 
making  preparations  to  leave  the  moment  the  news 
of  the  actual  secession  of  their  several  States  should 
reach  them. 

Poor  Willie!  His  heart  was  greatly  torn  between 
what  he  called  his  patriotism,  which  drew  him  im 
peratively  home  to  share  the  fortunes  of  his  State, 
and  his  boyish  passion  for  Lucy  Charlton,  which  made 
his  heart  faint  within  him  at  the  thought  of  leaving 
her.  It  made  it  all  the  harder  that  he  had  never  yet 
had  courage  to  declare  his  love;  nor  did  he  feel  at 
all  sure  how  Lucy  would  receive  his  declaration,  if  he 
should  ever  dare  to  make  it.  Whether  from  indif 
ference  or  coyness,  it  was  very  seldom  indeed  that  she 
showed  him  any  special  mark  of  favor.  But  he  had 
fully  made  up  his  mind  that  before  he  went  away  he 
should,  in  the  language  of  the  day,  "address"  Miss 
Lucy,  let  the  result  be  what  it  would. 

In  the  meantime  he  had  been  untiring  in  his  efforts 
to  raise  the  "sinews  of  war."  His  father  had  pur 
posely  sent  him  no  money,  lest  he  should  be  tempted 
to  use  it  in  coming  home.  His  funds  were  all  in 
the  hands  of  his  patron,  Dr.  Charlton,  who  had  re 
ceived  instructions  from  Mr.  Dayton  on  no  account 


A  SAD  GOOD-BY  213 

to  let  Willie  have  more  than  was  absolutely  necessary 
to  pay  his  running  expenses.  His  friends,  all  intent 
upon  the  same  scheme  as  himself,  and  most  of  them 
for  the  same  reason  kept  on  short  allowance,  had  no 
money  to  lend  him.  Rex  might  have  helped  him,  but 
he  had  promised  Mr.  Dayton  to  do  everything  in  his 
power  to  keep  his  boy  in  Bellaire,  and  Willie  would 
not  ask  him  for  help  lest  he  might  tempt  him  to  break 
his  word. 

But  there  was  one  last  resource:  Willie  went  to 
"Old  Sykes,"  the  dealer  in  second-hand  furniture, 
largely  patronized  by  the  poorer  students  in  fitting 
out  their  rooms,  and  often  by  the  wealthier  ones  when 
delayed  remittances  made  them  temporarily  hard  up 
and  they  were  quite  willing  to  dispose  of  some  article 
of  furniture  to  provide  them  with  the  necessary  funds 
for  a  lark  with  the  boys,  or  perhaps  to  buy  tickets 
for  some  concert  or  lecture  to  which  they  desired  to 
invite  the  young  lady  who  at  that  moment  reigned 
supreme  in  their  affections.  Of  course  Old  Sykes 
knew  that  when  the  money  from  home  arrived  the 
furniture  would  probably  be  bought  back,  and  it  was 
his  part  to  see  that  the  owners  got  it  at  a  sufficiently 
advanced  rate. 

He  knew  what  Willie  was  after  the  moment  he  en 
tered  the  small,  dusty,  disorderly  shop,  crowded  with 
furniture  of  all  ages  and  every  degree;  but  he  only 
greeted  him  with  a  curt  "Howdy"  while  he  went 
on  piling  wash-stands  on  bureaus  and  chairs  on  top 
of  both,  with  the  evident  intention  of  making  more 
floor  space  in  his  crowded  domain. 


214  IN  OLD   BELLAIRE 

"Sykes,"  said  Willie,  with  an  attempt  at  being  off 
hand  and  business-like,  "I  have  a  proposition  to  make 
you,  but  you  must  pledge  yourself  to  absolute  secrecy 
before  I  divulge." 

Sykes  smiled  grimly.  He  had  already  been  pledged 
to  "absolute  secrecy"  six  times  that  morning,  and 
hence  the  clearing  of  his  floor  space ;  but  he  readily 
gave  the  pledge.  And  then  Willie  told  him  he  wanted 
him  to  come  up  and  have  a  look  at  some  furniture 
and  make  him  an  offer  on  it.  Sykes  stopped  his  work 
long  enough  to  utter  another  curt  interrogatory: 

"Now?" 

"Yes,  right  away,  please,"  said  Willie;  and  slowly 
investing  himself  in  the  coat  and  waistcoat  he  had 
discarded  for  his  work,  and  putting  a  battered  slouch- 
hat  on  his  head,  Old  Sykes  declared  himself  ready 
to  accompany  Willie. 

There  was  not  much  of  the  furniture  Willie  could 
sell,  for  more  than  half  of  it  belonged  to  Rex;  but 
his  bed  with  its  furnishings,  his  rocker  and  book-case, 
and  a  small  desk  were  his  own.  Old  Sykes  was  a 
shrewd  fellow.  He  kept  up  a  low,  aggravating 
whistle  throughout  the  inspection,  shaking  his  head 
over  every  scratch  or  loose  screw,  and  his  whole 
manner  was  so  thoroughly  disparaging  that  Willie 
was  almost  prepared  for  the  extremely  low  sum  that 
he  named  as  his  "outside  figure."  To  Willie's  in 
dignant  remonstrance  he  answered  coolly: 

"All  right;  I  reckon  I  'm  loadin'  myself  up  too 
heavy,  anyway.  I  'm  taking  just  as  good  every  day 
at  less  money ;  I  am  only  doing  it  to  oblige  you  fellers. 


A  SAD  GOOD-BY  215 

And  I  reckon  I  'm  a  fool  for  my  pains,"  he  added 
as  he  saw  Willie  hesitating.  "Times  is  mighty  on- 
sartin.  Should  n't  wonder  if  the  old  college  'd  bu'st 
up,  you  fellers  is  leavin'  in  such  a  hurry;  and  I  '11 
have  all  this  stuff  on  my  hands  and  nary  a  student 
to  sell  to." 

He  did  not  believe  his  own  doleful  prediction;  he 
expected  to  sell  it  all  back  to  the  owners  next  Sep 
tember  for  three  times  what  he  had  given  for  it,  and 
he  could  not  forbear  mentally  licking  his  chops  at  the 
fine  speculation  he  was  making.  But  he  was  a  better 
prophet  than  he  knew.  Old  Tomlinson  did  not  quite 
break  up,  but  it  was  a  hard  struggle  for  life  for  the 
next  four  years.  Her  Southern  boys  never  came 
back  to  her,  and  those  who  came  to  take  their  places 
from  Maryland  and  Pennsylvania  were  not  only  few 
in  number  but  struggling  for  an  education  against 
all  the  financial  discouragements  of  war-times,  and 
doing  without  most  things  that  the  Southerners 
had  considered  absolute  necessities;  so  that  at  the 
end  of  the  war  Old  Sykes  found  himself  still  the 
possessor  of  a  large  part  of  the  property  acquired 
in  those  December  days,  and  his  fine  speculations  had 
left  him  a  poorer  and  a  sadder,  though  no  doubt  a 
wiser  man. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Sykes,"  said  Willie,  with  dignity, 
"I  will  accept  your  offer,  and  now  will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  make  an  estimate  on  my  books?" 

Still  the  sum  fell  far  short  of  Willie's  necessities, 
and  to  the  books  he  added  all  his  summer  wardrobe, 
and  as  much  of  his  winter  as  he  dared  part  with, 

15 


216  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

before  he  secured  the  amount  he  considered  absolutely 
necessary  to  furnish  him  with  the  means  of  flight. 

It  was  Friday  morning,  December  21,  that  the  bul 
letin-board  in  front  of  the  Mansion  House  announced 
to  a  crowd  of  excited  students  and  citizens  the  ac 
complished  fact  of  South  Carolina's  secession.  They 
were  prepared  for  it,  of  course;  for  the  Baltimore 
and  Philadelphia  dailies  had  kept  them  fully  informed 
of  the  progress  of  the  convention  in  session  at  Charles 
ton.  It  was  the  last  day  of  the  colle'ge  term  preceding 
the  Christmas  holidays,  which  in  those  days  lasted 
four  weeks.  Students  from  the  far  South  were  many 
of  them  accustomed  to  spend  those  four  weeks  in 
Bellaire  or  in  visiting  college  friends  who  lived  near; 
but  even  those  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  going 
home  had  very  generally  received  instructions  not 
to  come  at  this  time.  That  they  were  not  all  going  to 
heed  this  prohibition,  Mr.  Sykes,  standing  on  the  out 
skirts  of  the  crowd  and  smiling  grimly  as  he  saw 
half  a  dozen  South  Carolinians  slipping  quietly  away 
and  hurrying  toward  the  campus,  very  well  knew. 

Willie  Dayton  felt  that  his  hour  had  come !  But 
one  thing  he  had  resolved  on :  he  would  not  leave 
Bellaire  until  he  had  spoken  to  Lucy.  He  knew  it 
would  hardly  be  possible  for  him  to  see  her  before 
Saturday  night,  when  he  had  an  engagement  with  her 
for  choir  rehearsal ;  he  would  speak  to  her  then,  and 
if  she  would  not  accept  him  he  would  start  for  home 
on  Monday  morning. 

Lovers'  vows  should  always  be  breathed  beneath 
the  soft  skies  of  May  or  June,  and  amid  the  fragrance 


A  SAD  GOOD-BY  217 

of  apple-blossoms  or  roses.  But  since  that  was  denied 
to  Willie,  the  kindly  fates  made  the  best  amends 
possible  by  sending  a  drizzling  rain  all  Friday 
night,  which  froze  as  it  fell  and  turned  the  old  cam 
pus  into  a  fairy  world  of  shimmering  beauty  un 
der  the  white  radiance  of  the  full  moon.  On  that 
Saturday  night  Lucy  was  bewitching.  The  roses  in 
her  cheeks  took  a  deeper  tint  from  the  frosty  air, 
her  round,  white  chin  nestled  cozily  in  her  gray- 
squirrel  tippet,  and  a  "turban"  of  crimson  velvet 
with  a  drooping  white  plume  rested  jauntily  on  her 
golden  curls. 

Willie  had  had  but  little  to  say  until  they  had  en 
tered  the  campus  and  turned,  as  usual,  into  Lovers' 
Lane. 

"Oh,  is  n't  it  beautiful?"  exalaimed  Lucy,  ecstat 
ically,  looking  up  into  the  arch  of  fretted  crystal 
above  them,  with  its  millions  of  glittering  spear-points 
flashing  and  gleaming  as  the  branches  swayed  gently. 
Willie  did  not  look  up.  He  looked  straight  down  into 
her  eyes. 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  said  ;  ' '  beautiful ! ' '  And  Lucy,  catching 
his  glance,  blushed  and  looked  down.  Willie  made  a 
desperate  plunge: 

"I  am  going  away  in  a  day  or  two,  Cousin  Lucy." 
Her  start  of  surprise  and  her  soft,  regretful  "Oh!" 
encouraged  him.  He  bent  his  head  toward  her  and 
went  on  rapidly : 

"I  must  go.  My  country  calls  me,  but  I  leave  my 
heart  behind  me.  Lucy,  if  I  could  be  sure  that  you 
loved  me,  that  some  day  I  could  come  back  and  win 


218  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

you  for  my  wife,  I  would  go  away  happy  even  if  I 
knew  I  was  going  straight  into  war." 

He  had  tried  to  take  her  hand  as  he  made  his  boy 
ish  speech,  but  she  had  swiftly  withdrawn  it  from  his 
arm,  and  now  stood  looking  up  at  him  proudly. 

' '  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Cousin  Willie,  you  are  going 
back  to  South  Carolina,  and  if  there  should  be  war, 
you  will  fight  against  your  country?" 

Her  tone  struck  coldly  to  Willie's  heart,  but  he 
answered  steadily  and  proudly : 

"Yes,  I  am  going  home;  but  if  I  fight  it  will  be 
for  my  country.  My  State,  my  native  land,  is  my 
country. ' ' 

Lucy's  blue  eyes  flashed  and  her  little  figure  was 
drawn  up  to  its  full  height  as  she  answered  scorn 
fully: 

' '  Then,  sir,  you  will  be  a  traitor !  You  are  a  traitor, 
and  I  will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you!"  She 
turned  as  she  spoke  and  started  homeward. 

Willie  stood  as  if  petrified  a  moment,  and  then  he 
followed  her  with  a  quick  cry : 

' '  Lucy,  stop  !    Listen  to  me,  please. ' ' 

Her  soft  heart  could  not  resist  the  pain  in  his  voice, 
and  she  stopped  and  turned  slowly  toward  him. 

"Lucy,"  he  said,  impetuously  seizing  her  hand,  and 
holding  it  in  spite  of  her  struggles,  "you  are  the 
love  of  my  life!  I  would  gladly  shed  my  heart's 
blood  for  you  at  this  moment;  but  not  even  you 
must  call  me  traitor.  It  is  right  that  I  should  go  with 
my  State  and  fight  for  her  if  need  be,— just  as,  if 
you  were  a  man,  it  would  be  right  for  you  to  fight 


A  SAD   GOOD-BY  219 

for  Pennsylvania,— and  I  want  you  to  take  back 
that  word. ' ' 

Lucy  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  she  softened. 

' '  Perhaps  I  was  wrong,  Cousin  Willie,  to  call  you  a 
traitor;  but  oh,  you  are  wrong,  too.  South  Carolina 
is  not  your  country,  nor  Pennsylvania  mine,  but  the 
United  States.  Do  not  go  home  now.  Wait  until  this 
excitement  is  over.  Perhaps  after  a  while  you  will 
feel  differently." 

"Lucy,"  he  said,  pressing  the  little  hand  he  held 
so  hard  that  she  winced  with  pain,  "it  is  heaven 
to  have  you  ask  me  to  stay,  for  I  hope  it  is  because 
you  love  me  a  little,  and  God  knows  I  would  do  any 
thing  in  the  world  for  you  that  I  could.  But  I  must 
go,  Lucy.  Will  you  tell  me  that  you  love  me  before 
I  go  ?  I  could  almost  be  happy,  even  away  from  you, 
if  I  could  be  sure  of  that." 

But  Lucy's  softened  mood  had  passed,  and  a  saucy, 
teasing  one  had  come  in  its  place. 

"No,  sir,"  she  said;  "I  do  not  love  you,  even  a 
little.  I  have  always  liked  you,  and  I  used  to  think 
you  were  very  nice;  but  I  am  not  sure  I  think  that 
any  more.  And  please,  sir,  let  go  my  hand;  you  are 
hurting  me." 

Willie  relaxed  his  pressure  a  little,  but  still  held 
the  hand.  "Lucy,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  husky 
with  his  effort  to  control  it,  "do  not  trifle  with  me. 
I  am  terribly  in  earnest.  Answer  me.  Will  you 
marry  me  some  day,  when  this  trouble  is  all  over 
and  I  come  back?" 

He  was  so  stern  that  he  frightened  Lucy,  but  she 


220  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

answered  petulantly,  "No,  no;  I  will  never  marry 
a — a  South  Carolinian  who  fights  for  his  State ! ' ' 

Willie  turned  pale  and  slowly  dropped  her  hand. 
They  walked  toward  the  house,  neither  of  them  speak 
ing  until  they  were  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  There 
he  stopped  and  said  gravely,  "Will  you  let  me  go 
to  church  with  you  to-morrow  night,  Cousin  Lucy? 
It  may  be  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  see  you.  I  leave 
early  Monday  morning." 

Lucy  answered  shyly,  "Yes."  In  this  new  mood 
of  calm  repression,  she  hardly  knew  the  boy  that  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  treat  a  little  condescendingly. 
Heretofore,  though  two  or  three  years  younger  than 
Willie,  she  had  always  had  an  elder-sisterly  feeling 
toward  him ;  now  he  seemed  suddenly  to  have  sprung 
into  manhood,  and  she  felt  very  young  indeed. 

"And  you  will  not  forget  the  Christmas  present 
you  promised  me?"  he  went  on.  "You  will  give  it 
to  me,  please,  to-morrow  night?" 

Lucy  had  not  forgotten  it.  It  was  lying  at  that 
moment  in  her  bureau  drawer,  neatly  done  up  in  white 
tissue-paper  tied  with  a  blue  ribbon :  an  ambrotype  in 
a  pretty  case,  and  beautifully  colored,  Lucy  thought ; 
the  blue  eyes  very  blue,  the  pink  cheeks  very  pink, 
and  the  golden  curls  a  bright  yellow.  She  promised 
she  would  bring  it  to  him,  and  then  he  added  with  a 
little  hesitation : 

"I  do  not  like  to  ask  you  to  keep  any  secrets 
from  your  father  and  mother,  but  you  know  it  is 
essential  that  they  should  not  know  that  I  am  going 
away." 


A  SAD  GOOD-BY  221 

And  Lucy,  hardly  knowing  whether  she  was  doing 
wrong  or  not,  promised  to  keep  his  secret. 

In  the  quiet  of  her  own  room  she  shed  a  few  tears, 
mingled  with  some  smiles  and  blushes ;  she  was  sorry 
indeed  to  have  Willie  go  away,  and  he  was  her  first 
lover:  not  at  all  her  ideal,  which  was  of  some  one 
grand  and  stern,  tall  and  dark  and  cold,  not  boyish 
and  sunny-natured,  with  brown  curls  and  smiling 
blue  eyes.  But,  after  all,  there  was  a  little  sense  of 
shy  elation  in  the  fact  of  having  a  genuine  lover. 
"And,  besides,"  she  confessed  to  herself,  "I  really 
do  like  Cousin  Willie  very  much. ' ' 

The  next  day  was  not  a  comfortable  one  for 
Lucy.  Sitting  in  the  choir  at  the  morning  and  the 
afternoon  service,  with  Willie  just  a  little  in  the 
rear  on  the  other  side,  she  was  conscious  of  his  sad 
eyes  often  resting  on  her.  He  walked  home  with 
her  from  both  services,  for  he  kept  saying  to  himself, 
"It  is  the  last  time,"  and  though  the  pleasure  was 
a  painful  one,  he  would  not  have  missed  it. 

Except  for  a  little  reference  once  or  twice  to  "last 
times,"  and  how  often  they  would  be  in  his  thoughts, 
he  did  not  refer  to  his  going  away.  But  he  was  so 
subdued  and  quiet  that  Lucy  found  difficult  all  her 
efforts  to  be  natural  and  bright. 

In  the  evening  he  did  not  return  to  the  conversation 
of  the  night  before  until  they  had  arrived  at  the  little 
gate  at  the  end  of  Lovers'  Lane  on  their  way  home. 
Lucy,  with  her  little  package  safely  stowed  away  in 
her  pocket,  was  beginning  to  think  he  was  not  going 
to  ask  her  for  it,  and  was  fluctuating  between  proudly 


222  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

declaring  to  herself  that  he  should  not  have  it  unless 
he  asked,  and  weakly  trying  to  screw  her  courage  to 
the  point  of  offering  it  to  him.  At  the  gate  he 
stopped. 

"Have  you  my  Christmas  present  for  me,  Lucy?" 
he  asked  timidly. 

Pockets  were  not  hard  to  find  in  those  days.  She 
slipped  her  hand  quickly  into  hers,  and  laid  the  lit 
tle  package  in  his  hand.  He  undid  it  carefully,  fold 
ing  the  paper  and  the  blue  ribbon  and  putting  them 
in  his  pocket  before  he  opened  the  case.  Then  let 
ting  a  ray  of  moonlight  fall  upon  it,  he  looked  at  it 
a  long,  long  time,  apparently  forgetting  Lucy's  pres 
ence,  and  at  last  raising  it  passionately  to  his  lips. 
Lucy  did  not  see  that ;  she  had  turned  restlessly  away : 
but  it  would  have  made  no  difference  to  "Willie  if  she 
had.  Then  he  said— again  gently: 

"All  my  requests  are  last  requests  now,  Cousin 
Lucy;  and  I  do  not  believe  you  will  refuse  them. 
Will  you  give  me  one  tiny  curl  to  put  in  the  case 
with  your  picture?" 

Lucy 's  head  was  still  turned  away,  but  Willie  heard 
her  soft  "Yes"  and  lifted  the  curl  that  lay  next 
her  face.  It  was  soft  and  warm  from  its  nestling-place 
in  her  neck,  and  he  held  it  in  his  hand  a  moment 
and  then  lifted  it  to  his  lips  before  he  cut  off  a  tiny 
spiral  and,  laying  it  in  the  case,  put  it  away  in  an 
inner  pocket.  When  he  spoke  again  it  was  diffidently. 

' '  Cousin  Lucy, ' '  he  said,  ' '  if  you  do  not  mind  going 
up  to  the  house  alone,  I  will  say  good-by  to  you  here. ' ' 

Lucy  turned  toward  him.     She  felt  she  must  say 


A  SAD  GOOD-BY  223 

something  kind  to  him  before  he  went  away  forever. 
There  was  such  a  sadness  in  his  voice  and  in  his  eyes 
that  she  could  hardly  stand  it,  and  there  was  a  real 
ache  in  her  own  heart.  She  put  out  both  hands  to  him. 

"Oh,  Cousin  Willie,  I  wish  you  would  not  go,  and  I 
hope  you  will  be  back  before  long.  Don't  you  think 
you  will?'" 

He  took  her  two  hands  and  looked  down  into  her 
eyes  a  minute  with  such  entreaty  in  his  own  that  hers 
fell  before  them. 

"Are  you  sure,  Lucy,  there  is  no  hope  for  me?" 
he  said  at  last. 

"Quite  sure,"  said  Lucy,  under  her  Breath. 

With  a  quick  pressure  he  dropped  her  hands. 
"Good-by,  and  God  bless  you,"  he  added;  and  then, 
holding  open  the  little  gate,  he  added  hoarsely,  "Go, 
please. ' ' 

With  bent  head  she  walked  slowly  through  the  gate 
and  part  way  up  the  path ;  and  then  she  stopped  and 
looked  around.  Willie 's  arms  were  folded  on  the  gate 
post  and  his  head  was  bent  upon  them,  and  she 
thought  she  heard  what  sounded  like  a  suppressed 
sob.  Frightened  and  almost  awe-struck,  she  stole 
quickly  away. 

Willie's  train  left  at  six  the  next  morning,  and  it 
was  a  heroic  proof  of  devotion  on  Rex's  part  to  get 
up  in  the  shivering  December  air  and  walk  down  to 
the  station  with  him.  It  was  long  before  sunrise, 
but  the  moon,  still  almost  full,  reflected  from  the 
snowy  campus,  made  it  quite  light.  On  their  way 


224  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

down  the  long  path  toward  the  Iron  Gate,  Willie 
looked  up  at  Lucy 's  window  to  send  her  a  last  farewell 
in  his  thoughts.  To  his  joyful  surprise,  a  white  hand 
kerchief  was  fluttering  from  it.  He  took  off  his  hat 
in  response,  and  then  in  graceful  Southern  fashion 
kissed  his  hand  to  her  and  passed  under  the  overarch 
ing  trees,  whose  crystal  foliage,  making  almost  as 
effectual  a  screen  as  the  leaves  of  June,  hid  him  from 
Lucy's  sight  forever.  A  minute  later  she  heard  the 
Iron  Gate  clang;  she  knew  he  was  gone,  and  she 
threw  herself  on  her  bed  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
pillow. 

Who  of  the  three,  Rex  or  Willie  or  Lucy,  could 
dream  that  seven  months  later,  almost  to  the  very 
day,  all  through  the  dreadful  carnage  of  that  hot 
July  Sunday  on  the  battle-field  of  the  first  Bull  Run, 
a  boyish  figure  should  carry  the  Confederate  colors 
proudly  through  the  thickest  of  the  fight;  and  when 
his  comrades  should  be  hunting  their  dead  at  night, 
that  they  would  come  upon  him  lying  with  smiling 
eyes  upturned  to  the  calm  moon,  and  tightly  clasping 
in  his  hands,  that  rested  upon  his  heart,  the  picture 
of  a  beautiful  girl,  with  a  ring  of  golden  hair  tied 
by  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon  fastened  to  the  velvet  lining 
of  the  case ! 


"  She  stole  quickly  away." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AFTER  BREAKFAST 

REX  had  said,  "Good-by,"  to  Willie  at  the  station, 
and  Willie  had  seen  a  softer  look  in  the  black 
eyes  than  he  had  ever  seen  there  before,  while  his  own 
were  so  dim  that  he  could  hardly  see  Rex  waving 
adieux  to  him  while  the  Valley  train  moved  slowly 
down  Main  Street  until  he  was  quite  out  of  sight. 
Then  Rex  went  back  to  his  cheerless  room,  where  the 
ashes  of  last  night's  fire  lay  dead  on  the  hearth,  and 
flung  himself  into  his  big  chair  and  gave  himself  up  to 
a  gloomy  reverie. 

"I  am  a  fool  to  stay  here,"  he  said  at  last  aloud; 
"and  I  shall  write  to  father  to-day  to  release  me 
from  my  promise." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  stretched  his  legs,  shivering. 
He  was  stiff  from  sitting  so  long  in  the  cold  room, 
and  he  set  himself  to  building  a  fire.  He  was  not 
skilful  at  it,  for  Willie  had  always  had  the  fire  started 
before  lazy  Rex  turned  out  in  the  morning,  and  he 
mentally  resolved  that  he  would  engage  "  Judge"  to 
come  in  daily  and  make  it  for  him,  now  that  Willie 
was  gone. 

After  three  or  four  futile  attempts,  the  fire  at  last 
225 


226  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

consented  to  burn,  and  the  cheerful  crackle  and  the 
warm  glow  put  Rex  in  a  happier  frame  of  mind. 
Old  Sykes  would  come  for  Willie's  furniture  after 
breakfast,  and  "Judge"  would  be  in  to  put  his  room 
in  order,  two  doleful  ceremonies  that  Rex  would 
rather  not  be  present  at,  if  possible.  He  decided  to 
go  over  to  Dr.  Charlton's  immediately  after  break 
fast,  break  the  news  of  Willie 's  departure,  and  deliver 
his  messages  of  farewell  to  the  doctor  and  his  wife. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  the  holidays  and  the  Charl- 
tons  were  having  a  lazy  eight-o'clock  breakfast;  so 
it  happened  that  they  had  just  sat  down  to  the  table 
when  Rex's  name  was  announced. 

"Ask  him  to  come  right  down  to  the  dining-room," 
said  Mrs.  Charlton,  her  hospitable  instincts  delighted 
with  the  thought  of  welcoming  an  unexpected  guest 
to  her  breakfast- table. 

And  so  Rex,  ushered  by  Charles  Cook,  junior,  into 
the  warm  room  fragrant  with  Mocha  and  beefsteak, 
made  his  most  courtly  bow  at  the  door,  and  then  went 
around  the  table,  shaking  hands  with  everybody, 
beginning  with  Mrs.  Charlton  and  ending  with  little 
Millie,  who,  in  response  to  his  ' '  Howdy,  Miss  Millie  ? ' ' 
put  her  small  hand  in  his  and  said  gravely,  "I  am 
pretty  well,  I  thank  you,  sir.  How  do  you  do  ? "  Not 
quite  everybody,  either.  He  embraced  the  four  boys 
in  a  general  wave  of  his  hand  and  a  "Howdy,  young 
gentlemen?"  and  then,  his  punctilious  greetings 
ended,  Mrs.  Charlton  insisted  on  his  taking  a  seat 
at  the  table.  He  demurred  at  first,  but  Charles  Cook, 
junior,  obedient  to  her  signal,  placed  a  chair  for  him 


AFTER  BREAKFAST  227 

between  Lucy  and  the  doctor  and  opposite  Eunice, 
and  the  temptation  of  having  a  cup  of  Mrs.  Charlton's 
delicious  coffee  and  sitting  vis-a-vis  with  Eunice  was 
not  to  be  resisted. 

Rex  was  a  keen  observer,  and  so  it  had  not  escaped 
him  that  Lucy  was  looking  pale  and  that  her  hand 
trembled  as  he  took  it,  and  he  knew  she  divined  his 
errand.  It  had  not  escaped  him,  either,  that  the 
little  tongue  of  color  that  he  had  learned  to  recognize 
as  a  token  of  either  embarrassment  or  emotion  was 
burning  brightly  in  Eunice's  cheek,  and  that  her 
hand  was  colder  than  it  should  have  been  in  that  warm 
room. 

He  did  not  disclose  his  errand  at  once,  but  when, 
taking  advantage  of  a  turn  in  the  conversation  that 
seemed  to  lead  up  to  it,  he  announced  that  Willie  was 
gone,  the  surprise  and  consternation  depicted  on  the 
individual  countenances  quite  delighted  his  love  of  ef 
fect.  The  doctor  was  surprised  into  a  ' '  Tut ;  tut ! ' '  the 
homely  form  of  reproof  he  sometimes  addressed  to 
his  boys  when  they  grew  too  obstreperous  or  noisy  at 
the  table.  "Tut!  tut!  Willie  Dayton  gone  home!" 
And  then,  a  suspicion  suddenly  striking  him:  ''Did 
he  go  alone  ? ' ' 

"I  am  all  that  is  left  of  the  South  Carolina  delega 
tion,  sir, ' '  said  Rex,  a  little  twinkle  in  the  tail  of  his 
eye  at  sight  of  the  doctor's  dismay.  " Fifteen  boys 
went  off  with  Willie  on  the  six-o'clock  train." 

The  doctor  saw  the  twinkle,  and  his  manner  changed 
at  once. 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir,"  he  said  sternly,  "by  in- 


228  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

forming  me  of  this  only  when  it  is  too  late  to  pre 
vent  their  going?  You  are  aware,  I  suppose,  that  I 
have  instructions  from  the  parents  of  every  one  of 
them  to  keep  them  here  until  they  should  be  sent  for. ' ' 

The  doctor  was  greatly  excited,  or  he  would  never 
have  spoken  so  to  Bex,  and  in  the  presence  of  his 
family.  The  most  genial  of  men,  he  was  at  times 
also  the  most  severe,  and  the  students  stood  in  whole 
some  awe  of  him ;  but  he  was  never  unjust,  and  Rex 
flushed  deeply  at  the  doctor's  implication. 

Mrs.  Charlton  sprang  to  the  rescue. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  gently,  "you  could  hardly 
expect  Mr.  McAllister  to  play  the  part  of  an  in 
former.  It  strikes  me  you  are  lashing  the  others  over 
his  shoulders,  instead  of  giving  him  the  praise  he 
deserves  for  not  having  gone  off  with  them." 

His  wife's  words  brought  the  doctor  to  himself, 
and  he  apologized  to  Rex  instantly,  adding  also  a 
courteous  commendation  of  Rex  himself.  But  he  was 
still  very  much  annoyed  that  he  should  have  "failed 
so  signally,"  as  he  said,  in  the  trust  reposed  in  him. 
He  rubbed  his  head  in  whimsical  perplexity : 

"Dear!  dear!  how  do  you  suppose  the  youngsters 
managed  it?"  with  a  keen  glance  at  Rex.  "I  have 
been  keeping  them  all  on  short  allowance  to  prevent 
this  very  thing." 

"I  am  afraid  you  think  I  have  been  aiding  and 
abetting  them,  doctor, ' '  said  Rex,  with  a  smile ;  ' '  but 
I  have  n't.  I  gave  my  word  to  my  father,  a  month 
ago,  that  whatever  happened  I  would  stay  here  until 
he  sent  for  me,  and  do  my  best  to  keep  Willie.  And 


AFTER  BREAKFAST  229 

of  course,"  he  added  proudly,  "I  have  kept  my 
word." 

Rex  was  not  as  great  a  favorite  with  the  doctor 
as  with  Mrs.  Charlton.  Perhaps  his  old  reputation 
for  being  wild  and  reckless  had  alienated  him  from 
the  one  as  much  as  it  had  endeared  him  to  the  other. 
Mrs.  Charlton  always  loved  most  where  she  thought 
it  was  most  needed;  but  the  doctor  had  appreciated 
his  recent  efforts  at  reform  and  had  felt  much  more 
kindly  toward  him,  and  now  it  was  with  a  genuine 
glow  of  admiration  that  he  turned  to  him  and  said 
warmly:  "You  have  acted  the  part  of  a  man  of 
honor,  and  I  esteem  you  for  it." 

Words  of  approbation  from  the  doctor  were  a  new 
thing  to  Eex,  and  they  embarrassed  him.  He  has 
tened  to  add : 

"I  hope  you  will  not  think  Willie  has  been  dis 
honorable,  sir.  He  broke  no  promise,  for  he  would  not 
give  one;  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  his  was  the 
wiser  way." 

Now  the  doctor  admired  Rex  all  the  more  for  his 
defense  of  his  absent  cousin.  He  was  beginning  to 
feel  a  real  liking  for  the  young  man  who  was  showing 
himself  in  such  a  generous  light ;  but  he  was  not  going 
to  spoil  him  by  too  much  commendation,  especially 
before  the  ladies,  the  presence  of  one  of  whom,  he 
shrewdly  suspected,  would  add  greatly  to  its  weight 
in  Rex's  eyes.  So  he  only  said: 

"Perhaps  so,  perhaps  so.  I  am  not  sure  but  if  I 
had  been  a  young  fellow  from  the  South,  I  should 
have  done  exactly  as  they  have  done,  and  should  have 


230  IN  OLD  BELLAIEE 

considered  myself  a  patriot  and  a  man  of  honor  in 
doing  it." 

And  then  Rex  flushed  a  little  again,  for  he  was 
feeling  very  sensitively  that  everybody  would  be  likely 
to  consider  theirs  the  brave  and  manly  course,  and 
that  the  least  taint  of  cowardice  should  cling  to  him 
was  intolerable  to  his  haughty  spirit.  He  had  re 
gretted  his  promise  a  hundred  times,  but  never  so 
keenly  as  at  this  moment. 

"Heaven  knows,"  he  said  with  sudden  fire,  "that 
I  would  give  the  world  to  be  with  them  at  this  minute ! 
I  feel  like  a  poltroon  to  stay  behind.  But  I  hope  to 
be  released  from  my  promise  soon,  and  then  I  shall 
follow  them." 

His  fine  head,  with  its  dark  curls,  was  flung  proudly 
back,  and  his  eyes  flashed  as  he  spoke.  He  looked 
very  grand  to  Eunice,  who  stole  a  glance  at  him  and,  as 
her  eyes  met  his,  dropped  hers  suddenly  to  her  plate. 
But  Rex  had  caught  the  look  of  admiration  in  them 
before  they  fell,  and  it  put  him  in  a  good  humor  for 
the  rest  of  the  meal.  His  steak  was  juicy  and  tender, 
his  coffee  was  all  that  his  boarding-house  coffee  was 
not,  and  it  had  been  an  hour  since  his  own  breakfast — 
quite  time  enough  at  his  age  to  get  up  an  appetite 
for  another.  And  more  than  that,  Eunice  was  sit 
ting  opposite,  looking,  he  believed,  prettier  than  he 
had  ever  seen  her,  in  her  morning- gown  of  soft  gray 
with  creamy  lace  at  the  throat  tied  with  a  knot  of 
scarlet  ribbon,  the  delicate  color  coming  and  going 
at  his  glance,  and  a  shy  pleasure  in  the  calm  gray 
eyes.  Altogether,  he  was  very  happy  in  spite  of  the 


AFTER  BREAKFAST  231 

fact  that  he  had  not  gone  to  South  Carolina  with  the 
boys. 

He  had  not  seen  Eunice  for  two  weeks.  He  had 
been  keeping  away,  with  some  quixotic  idea  of  giving 
Rogers  a  chance,  for  he  had  been  seized  with  a  sud 
den  suspicion  that  Eunice  loved  him,  and  in  a  spasm 
of  jealousy  and  generosity  had  determined  to  give 
him  a  free  field.  But  his  spasm  had  passed.  Rogers 
would  probably  be  home  for  the  next  four  weeks,  and 
the  free  field  would  be  Rex's,  and  he  had  just  about 
made  up  his  mind  to  go  in  seriously  and  win — 
for  as  to  the  winning  he  had  but  little  doubt.  Rex 
was  not  given  to  distrusting  his  powers  in  affairs  of 
the  heart. 

And  it  was  all  very  pleasant:  the  bright  and  ani 
mated  breakfast-table,  its  gracious  lady  at  the  head, 
in  a  becoming  morning-cap  of  lace  and  ribbon,  beam 
ing  brightly  on  the  long  table,  surrounded  by  the 
shining  morning  faces.  Very  pleasant,  when  break 
fast  was  over,  to  gather  in  a  broad  semicircle  around 
the  open  fire  of  glowing  coals  while  the  good  doctor 
read  from  the  big  Bible,  and  did  not  forget  in  the 
prayer  that  followed  to  pray  for  "the  dear  friend" 
with  them.  And  very  pleasant  afterward  to  linger 
for  more  cheerful  talk  about  the  fire,  and  to  see  Eunice 
with  a  deprecating  blush  draw  her  tatting  from  her 
pocket,  and  watch  her  white  fingers  fly  swiftly  back 
and  forth  in  the  graceful  occupation.  Very  pleasant 
— when  Charles  Cook,  junior,  had  carried  out  the 
breakfast  and  the  heavier  dishes,  and  collected  the 
glass  and  silver  and  more  delicate  china  in  neat  piles, 

M 


232  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

and  brought  in  his  great  japanned  waiter  with  the  hot 
water  and  towels— to  have  Mrs.  Charlton  say: 

"Now,, Mr.  Charlton,  you  and  Eunice  and  Mr.  Mc 
Allister  go  up  to  the  parlor,  and  Lucy  and  I  will  do 
the  silver  and  china. ' ' 

And  pleasantest  of  all,  when  they  were  cozily  seated 
about  the  parlor  fire,  to  have  Dr.  Charlton  excuse 
himself  on  the  plea  of  work  to  be  attended  to  in  his 
office  and  leave  Rex  alone  with  Eunice. 

Hex  leaned  back  luxuriously  in  his  deep  chair  when 
the  doctor  had  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  for 
a  few  moments  gave  himself  up  to  silent  enjoyment. 
Crimson  damask  draperies  at  the  windows  had  been 
added  to  the  light  lace  ones  of  the  summer,  and  gave 
the  room  a  cozy,  shut-in  effect ;  they  hung  from  heavy, 
gilded  cornices  and  were  looped  back  with  silk  ropes 
far  enough  to  admit  the  bright  December  sun  and 
give  glimpses  of  the  shining  ice-world  outside.  He 
could  not  divest  himself  of  a  feeling  that  they  two 
were  sitting  at  their  own  fireside,  and  he  said  to  him 
self,  "Just  as  she  looks  this  morning,  shall  I  see  her 
every  day  in  my  Southern  home."  And  as  he  looked 
at  the  slender  figure,  with  its  inalienable  air  of  quaint 
primness,  the  drooping  curls  and  softly  falling  dress, 
so  different  from  the  crinolined  belles  of  the  day,  he 
decided  in  his  own  mind  that  ,in  no  particular  would 
he  have  her  different ;  he  would  not  even  have  her  give 
up  her  swiftly  flying  shuttle  that  had  once  so  an 
noyed  him. 

Eunice  felt  his  long  scrutiny  and  was  painfully 
embarrassed  under  it.  She  had  wondered  at  his  ab- 


AFTER  BREAKFAST  233 

sence  of  two  weeks,  and  had  discovered  in  the  inter 
val  that  she  had  missed  his  gay,  cheery  presence. 
There  had  been  no  reason  for  his  sudden  defection, 
she  thought,  and  she  had  fully  intended  to  punish 
him  for  it  by  receiving  him  with  great  coolness  when 
he  should  return.  She  assured  herself  that  the  dis 
comfort  she  felt  in  his  absence  was  chiefly  owing  to 
a  fear  that  he  might  be  returning  to  his  former  ways, 
from  which  she  honestly  longed  to  save  him ;  and  the 
anxiety  she  felt  at  the  thought  that  Miss  Lydia  might 
have  regained  her  influence  over  him  she  did  not  for 
a  moment  attribute  to  jealousy. 

Now  that  they  were  alone,  she  expected  momentarily 
that  he  would  begin  his  explanations,  which  she  in 
tended  to  receive  with  reserve.  She  did  not  attempt 
to  break  the  silence,  which  Rex  was  enjoying  and  she 
was  finding  trying,  but  with  eyes  on  her  shuttle  waited 
for  him  to  begin.  It  was  startling,  therefore,  to  have 
him  suddenly  abandon  his  lazy  lounging  and,  bending 
toward  her,  say: 

"I  have  not  heard  what  you  think,  Miss  Eunice,  of 
South  Carolina's  going  out." 

Eunice's  eyes  were  on  her  work,  but  she  was  con 
scious  of  the  look  that  was  in  those  dark  ones  resting 
on  her,  and  her  fingers  flew  faster  than  ever  as  she 
answered : 

"I  think  it  was  not  only  a  wicked  thing  to  do,  but 
an  extremely  foolish  one. ' ' 

As  he  did  not  reply  immediately,  she  added  with 
a  nervous  little  laugh,  and  glancing  up  from  her  work 
for  a  moment: 


234  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"I  presume  you  do  not  agree  with  me." 

Bex  met  her  glance  with  a  smile,  and  there  was  such 
a  subtle  quality  of  perfect  confidence  and  all-per 
vading  warmth  in  the  smile  that  Eunice 's  calm  pulses 
began  to  flutter  as  her  eyes  fell  on  her  work  again. 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Rex,  half-musingly ; 
"but  I  was  not  thinking  so  much  of  that  as  of  what 
you  said  that  evening  when  Mrs.  Charlton  was  so 
aroused  about  John  Brown.  Do  you  remember  it?" 

"I  do  not  remember  saying  anything  worth  re 
membering,"  said  Eunice,  her  pulses  growing  calm 
again  at  his  unexpected  answer. 

Rex  leaned  a  little  nearer  and  tried  to  look  under 
the  lids  that  were  persistently  dropped. 

"Don't  you  remember  saying,"  he  said  softly,  "that 
you  thought  a  wife's  country  should  be  her  husband's 
— that  she  should  leave  home,  friends,  and  native  land 
for  him?" 

Eunice's  shuttle  flew  with  incredible  swiftness,  but 
she  answered  with  outward  calmness : 

"I  am  not  sure,  but  I  may  have  made  some  such 
remark.  I  have  always  believed  that  marriage  can 
cels  all  other  obligations,  and  that  a  wife  should  let 
no  difference  of  opinion  that  she  can  reconcile  with 
her  conscience  creep  in  to  destroy  the  unity  of  the 
marriage  relation." 

Rex  smiled  at  the  quaint  formality  of  the  little 
speech,  but  its  coldness  was  more  than  atoned  for  by 
the  color  that  came  and  went  in  her  cheek  and  the 
tremulous  quiver  of  the  sensitive  chin.  He  was  still 
nearer  now,  so  that  the  faint  aroma  of  fine  cigars 


AFTER  BREAKFAST  235 

peculiar  to  him,  and  that,  in  spite  of  Eunice's  preju 
dices,  affected  her  like  an  exquisite  perfume,  was 
plainly  perceptible.  He  boldly  took  the  swiftly  fly 
ing  hands  in  his,  and  laid  the  shuttle  in  her  lap. 

' '  I  like  to  watch  you  at  your  work,  Eunice, ' '  he  said, 
"it  is  so  pretty  and  graceful ;  but  not  now,  my  darling. 
I  want  you  to  look  at  me  and  tell  me  that  you  love 
me  and  that  you  will  go  with  me  to  my  Southern 
home;  that  you  will  leave  friends  and  native  land — 
all — for  your  husband." 

There  was  no  fear  in  his  tone,  nothing  but  joyous 
love  and  tenderness.  For  one  moment  Eunice  raised 
her  eyes  to  his  and  saw  the  glowing  look  of  love,  and 
the  handsome  face  illumined  and  ennobled  by  his 
strong  feeling,  until  it  seemed  to  her  surpassing  even 
the  face  of  her  girlish  dreams  in  its  manly  beauty. 
For  one  moment  she  longed  to  yield  to  the  delight 
of  being  loved  by  such  a  lover,  so  grand  did  he  seem 
to  her.  Her  colder  nature  longed  for  the  ardent  love 
that  should  infold  it  in  such  an  atmosphere  of  luxu 
riant  warmth.  He  saw  the  moment  of  hesitation, 
and  his  warm  hands,  still  holding  her  cold  ones, 
drew  her  gently  toward  him.  Then  swiftly  it  came 
to  her — all  that  this  love  meant.  She  knew  him  really 
so  slightly,  she  distrusted  him  so  much,  and  in  her 
ardent  patriotism  she  felt  that  all  South  Carolinians 
were  traitors.  Marry  a  traitor !  Impossible !  She 
drew  back  frigidly  and  struggled  to  release  her 
hands. 

' '  No ! ' '  she  said ;  ' '  it  can  never  be.  How  could  I 
go  and  live  in  South  Carolina,  when  I  think  South 


236  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Carolina  has  acted  so  wickedly,  and  South  Carolin 
ians  are  little  better  than — "  she  faltered  a  little 
over  the  word— "traitors?"  He  did  not  relinquish 
her  hands,  and  his  tone  hardly  lost  any  of  its  joy- 
ousness. 

"Have  you  forgotten,"  he  said  softly,  "that  the 
wife  is  to  think  as  her  husband?  Your  country  will 
be  mine,  my  darling,  and  you  will  not  think  me  a 
traitor,  but  a  patriot." 

"But  I  am  not  your  wife,"  she  faltered;  and  then, 
with  an  effort  at  recovering  her  calmness:  "Please 
let  go  my  hands,  Mr.  McAllister;  it  would  be  im 
possible,  I  think,  even  if  you  were  not  a  South  Caro 
linian.  I  do  not  believe  I  could  make  you  happy. 
Our  lives  have  been  so  different,  and  we  are  so  dif 
ferent." 

' '  No, ' '  he  said,  in  answer  to  her  struggles  to  release 
her  hands;  "they  are  mine;  I  shall  not  let  them  go 
until  you  tell  me  that  you  do  not  love  me.  You  have 
not  told  me  that,"  looking  at  her  with  a  confident 
smile;  "and  no  difference  of  life,  of  education  or 
country,  can  make  any  difference,  if  you  love  me." 

The  ardor  of  his  tones,  his  glowing  glances,  were 
almost  more  than  Eunice  could  resist.  She  felt  herself 
half  yielding  in  spite  of  her  convictions.  His  words 
thrilled  her  to  the  heart,  but  they  roused  her,  too, 
to  make  a  stronger  resistance  to  the  magnetism  of  his 
pleading. 

' '  Mr.  McAllister,  I  appeal  to  your  chivalrous  nature, 
to  your  honor  as  a  Southern  gentleman,  not  to  try 
me  beyond  my  powers  of  resistance.  I  do  not  think 


AFTER  BREAKFAST  237 

I  love  you.  If  I  were  sure  I  did,  I  would  not  marry 
you;  and  I  am  almost  sure  I  do  not." 

Eunice  had  made  the  one  appeal  Rex  could  not  be 
deaf  to.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  been  joyous,  almost 
laughing,  so  sure  was  he  that  she  loved  him  and  would 
yield  at  last.  Now  he  laid  her  hands  gently  in  her 
lap,  but  kept  hold  of  one  of  them  while  he  spoke 
very  gravely: 

"As  long  as  you  are  not  certain  that  you  do  not 
love  me,  Eunice,  you  must  give  me  the  benefit  of  the 
uncertainty.  I  am  sure  you  will  love  me  sometime. 
You  were  made  for  me.  I  have  felt  it  almost  from 
the  first  moment  I  saw  you.  You  must  love  me. 
What  does  anything  else  in  the  world  mean,  if  we  love 
each  other  ?  All  these  troubles  between  the  South  and 
the  North  will  soon  be  over.  Perhaps  South  Carolina 
will  be  back  in  the  Union.  I  have  no  doubt  she  will, 
if  the  North  will  yield  her  claims.  If  she  is  not,  what 
difference  will  it  make?  You  would  marry  me  if  I 
were  an  Englishman  or  a  Frenchman,  if  you  loved 
me,  and  you  would  go  with  me  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  I  will  be  no  more  of  a  foreigner,  if  I  am  a 
South  Carolinian,  and  you  will  not  have  to  go  so 
far  away." 

"Oh,  Mr.  McAllister,"  said  Eunice,  desperately, 
"can  you  not  see?  Of  course  it  would  make  no  dif 
ference  to  you.  You  would  not  have  to  leave  your 
friends.  You  would  not  have  to  be  false  to  your 
country;  but  I  should  feel  myself  a  traitor  if  I  mar 
ried  you,  and  I  cannot— I  will  not.  Have  pity  on 
me  and  do  not  ask  me." 


238  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

There  were  actual  tears  in  those  calm  gray  eyes  that 
Rex  had  sometimes  thought  too  cold  for  tears.  Her 
tone  was  so  imploring  and  her  distress  so  evident  that 
Rex  could  not  resist  her  appeal. 

"Eunice,  darling,"  he  said,  "I  love  you  too  much 
to  be  willing  to  distress  you.  I  will  not  ask  you  now 
to  marry  me.  I  am  sure  time  will  remove  all  these 
obstacles  that  seem  so  insuperable  to  you.  But  you 
have  not  told  me  that  you  love  me.  Give  me  that 
assurance,  and  I  will  wait  for  the  rest." 

Eunice  waited  a  long  moment  before  she  answered 
slowly  and  timidly: 

"You  will  always  be  a  dear  friend  to  me,  Mr.  McAl 
lister;  but  I  do  not  believe  I  love  you  as  you  want 
me  to,  and  I  would  rather  you  would  not  think  of  me 
in  that  way. ' ' 

"I  will  never  cease  to  think  of  you  'in  that  way,' 
Eunice, ' '  said  Rex,  with  a  little  smile ;  ' '  but  I  am  not 
going  to  reject  your  friendship.  Let  me  be  your 
'dear  friend'  until  you  are  willing  to  receive  me  as 
your  dear  lover.  I  am  sure  you  will,  some  day.  A 
dear  friend  may  kiss  your  hand  just  once,  may  he 
not?"  And,  without  waiting  for  her  consent,  he 
lifted  it  to  his  lips. 

There  was  such  an  air  of  mingled  gallantry  and 
deference,  of  restrained  passion  and  protecting  tender 
ness,  in  the  little  act,  and  such  high-bred  grace  in  the 
manner  of  it,  that  perhaps  Eunice  was  nearer  yield 
ing  than  she  had  been  when  he  was  pleading  most 
ardently.  At  that  moment  the  bell  rang  and  Mr. 
Rogers  was  announced,— -come,  he  said,  to  make  his 


AFTER  BREAKFAST  239 

adieus  to  the  family, — he  was  to  leave  on  the  next 
train.  Rex  lingered  to  chat  with  him  a  few  moments, 
engaging  him  at  once  in  an  animated  conversation  on 
the  exodus  of  the  morning,  until  Eunice  had  had  time 
to  recover  her  usual  calm  exterior,  and  then  he  took 
his  leave,  promising  to  see  Rogers  off  at  the  station. 

He  was  not  discouraged.  It  fretted  him  a  little 
that  he  could  not  immediately  have  the  full  fruition 
of  his  hopes — for,  his  mind  once  made  up  that  he 
wanted  Eunice  for  a  wife,  he  was  impatient  for  her 
promise;  but  he  was  sure  it  would  come  in  time, 
and  he  determined  to  make  such  good  use  of  the  next 
four  weeks  that  Rogers  *s  return  should  find  Eunice 
his  affianced  bride.  He  could  afford  to  feel  good- 
natured  toward  Rogers,;  and,  aside  from  his  real  lik 
ing  for  him,  he  began  to  feel  a  little  sorry  for  him, 
too,  so  that  his  "Good-by"  at  the  station  was  un 
consciously  tinged  with  a  slight  air  of  pity  and  con 
descension  that  Mr.  Rogers  found  difficult  to  under 
stand  as  he  mused  over  it  on  his  homeward  way. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   STERN   RESOLVE 

THE  four  weeks  of  the  holidays  passed  quickly. 
Rex  had  gone  about  his  wooing  with  energy. 
There  were  sleighing-parties  to  Mount  Holly,  where 
mine  host  of  the  Holly  Inn  gave  them  a  warm  re 
ception,  with  hot  oysters  and  coffee.  There  were 
skating-parties  to  "Pike's  Pond,"  with  a  two-mile 
walk  over  the  frozen  fields,  brisk  and  pleasant  on  the 
way  out,  but  long  and  weary  enough  on  the  way 
home,  were  it  not  that  a  tired  and  drooping  little 
form  leaned  more  confidingly  than  perhaps  it  was 
aware  on  the  strong  arm  that  would  have  liked  to 
give  it  even  more  decided  support.  There  were  long 
morning  calls,  too,  when  they  translated  Heine's 
poems  together,  or  Rex  read  Tennyson  while  Eunice 
busied  herself  with  a  bit  of  dainty  sewing ;  for  Eunice 
could  not  quite  reconcile  it  with  her  conscience  to 
spend  the  precious  morning  hours  without  the  excuse 
of  some  "improving"  occupation. 

But,  after  all,  when  the  four  weeks  were  over,  and 
Mr.  Rogers  had  returned,  Eunice  was  not  his  affi 
anced  bride,  as  Rex  had  fondly  hoped.  And  if  Rogers 
had  mused  over  the  condescension  of  Rex's  parting 

240 


A  STEEN  RESOLVE  241 

manner,  he  mused  still  more  over  the  melancholy  air 
with  which  he  wrung  his  hand  as  he  welcomed  him 
back  again. 

Eunice  had  enjoyed  the  sleigh-rides,  the  skating, 
the  morning  readings,  soothing  any  scruples  she  might 
have  otherwise  had,  because  of  the  perfect  under 
standing  she  supposed  existed  between  them,  and  that 
there  was  no  danger  of  a  return  to  Rex's  question. 
But  in  drifting  along  so  pleasantly,  she  suddenly 
awoke  to  a  realization  of  the  fact  that  her  own  peace 
was  becoming  seriously  endangered. 

It  was  one  morning  when  Rex  was  reading  aloud 
from  Tennyson— a  dangerous  pastime  for  two  young 
people  to  indulge  in,  for  there  is  always  sure  to  be 
some  passage  so  wonderfully  appropriate  to  them 
selves,  and  made  doubly  eloquent  by  a  tone  or  a 
glance.  Now  as  Rex  read  the  tenderest  lines  the 
great  poet  ever  wrote,  King  Arthur's  farewell  to 
Guinevere,  and  came  to  the  words, 

' '  My  doom  is,  I  love  thee  still ; 
Let  no  man  dream  but  that  I  love  thee  still," 

he  looked  up  at  Eunice  with  all  his  soul  in  his  eyes, 
and  made  the  words  his  own,  an  infinite  meaning 
in  the  tender  inflections  of  his  voice.  Then  Eunice 
knew  that  she  could  not  go  on  listening  to  those  low, 
rich  tones  nor  meet  the  eloquent  glances  of  those 
dark,  beautiful  eyes. 

She  was  more  than  ever  sure  that  she  could  never 
marry  him.  There  seemed  less  hope  every  day  of  a 


242  IN  OLD  BELLAIEE 

peaceable  adjustment  of  the  difficulties  between  the 
North  and  the  South.  If  she  could  bring  her  own 
conscience  to  consent,  she  knew  it  would  break  her 
father's  heart,  whose  weekly  letters  breathed  ardent 
and  long-drawn  denunciations  of  the  wicked  and  cor 
rupt  South,  to  which  Eunice  would  have  once  sub 
scribed  most  heartily,  but  which  somehow  hurt  her  a 
little  now. 

The  reading  had  moved  her  greatly.  Her  heart 
was  all  melted  and  torn  with  pity  for  the  beautiful 
Queen  lying  at  the  feet  of  Arthur,  but  more  for  the 
great  King  whose  "vast  pity  almost  made  him  die 
to  see  her  laying  there  her  golden  head,"  and  Rex's 
tone  and  look  were  the  one  touch  she  could  not  stand. 

Eunice!  The  calm,  self -restrained,  unimpassioned 
Eunice  was  sobbing,  her  face  buried  in  her  work! 
Hex  was  bewildered,  and  his  heart  was  in  his  mouth 
at  the  sight  of  her  distress.  He  did  not  stop  to  reason. 
All  the  rigid  self-control  he  had  imposed  upon  himself 
vanished  in  a  moment.  He  was  beside  her,  holding 
her  in  his  arms,  kissing  her  hair,  her  forehead,  the 
hands  that  covered  her  eyes,  and  whispering,  "What 
is  it,  my  darling,  my  love,  my  own  Eunice  ? ' ' 

For  the  fraction  of  a  minute  Eunice's  head  rested 
on  his  shoulder,  and  she  felt  his  kisses  and  heard  his 
impassioned  words,  and  a  wild  impulse  seized  her 
to  trample  on  her  conscience,  defy  her  friends,  and 
yield  to  this  love  that  was  so  sweet.  But  in  her  heart 
she  knew  she  could  not,  and  freeing  herself  with  a 
desperate  effort,  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"Please  go,"  she  said,  "and  do  not  come  back  any 


A  STERN  RESOLVE  243 

more.  I  can  never  marry  you,  and  I  mill  not  love  you 
if  I  can  help  it!" 

" Eunice/'  he  said  triumphantly,  and  trying  once 
more  to  draw  her  to  him,  "you  cannot  help  it — you 
do  love  me!" 

But  she  eluded  his  arms,  and  with  clasped  hands 
and  entreaty  in  her  eyes  and  voice  she  said : 

' '  Oh,  I  am  afraid  I  do !  But  if  I  do,  you  must 
help  me  not  to.  It  can  bring  us  both  nothing  but 
anguish.  I  cannot  break  my  father's  heart  nor  tram 
ple  on  my  own  self-respect.  I  throw  myself  on  your 
pity  and  generosity — help  me  not  to  love  you,  for  I 
will  never  marry  you!" 

In  the  very  midst  of  her  distress  there  flashed  into 
her  mind  a  conviction  that  she  was  playing  the  trag 
edy  queen  quite  as  much  as  Mrs.  Charlton  had  done 
on  that  October  evening,  and  she  felt  humiliated  and 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  recover  her  usual  compos 
ure.  As  for  Rex,  a  slow  conviction  was  pressing  it 
self  on  his  heart  that  this  little  Puritan  maiden 
really  meant  what  she  said;  that  though  she  might 
love  him,  it  would  be  against  her  will,  and  she  would 
never  yield  herself  to  his  love.  With  the  conviction 
came  a  dull  feeling  of  anger.  He  felt  like  one  dash 
ing  himself  helplessly  against  a  stone  wall.  He  re 
sented  her  firmness — "obstinacy,"  he  called  it.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  his  own  imperious  will  came 
in  conflict  with  one  not  so  imperious,  but  stronger. 

"Eunice,"  he  said  angrily,  "this  is  all  nonsense! 
You  either  love  me,  or  you  do  not.  If  you  love  me, 
there  is  no  law  of  right  or  wrong  in  the  universe  that 


244  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

ought  to  separate  us.  You  are  mine;  heaven  has 
ordained  it;  what  right  has  earth  to  deny  it?  If 
you  will  say  to  me  truthfully  and  from  your  heart 
that  you  do  not  love  me,  then  I  will  go  and  trouble 
you  no  more." 

Eunice  had  regained  her  calmness  with  Rex's  rising 
anger,  and  she  answered  steadily : 

"I  wish  I  could  say  truthfully  that  I  do  not  love 
you.  I  cannot.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  will  not  love 
you  always,  long  after  you  shall  have  forgotten  me. 
But  that  does  not  alter  my  decision.  I  know  I  am 
right  when  I  say  that  I  will  not  marry  you."  She 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  with  a  slight 
trembling  of  her  even  tones :  "  It  will  be  much  better 
for  us  both  if  we  see  but  little  of  each  other,  and  I  may 
never  again  speak  to  you  alone.  Dear  friend,  will 
you  remember  this  of  me :  that  always  when  I  hear 
of  you  leading  a  noble,  upright  life,  true  to  your  own 
convictions  of  right,  my  heart  will  swell  with  prido 
in  you  and  gratitude  to  God  for  having  once  given 
me  the  love  of  such  a  man?  And  the  greatest  sor 
row  that  could  ever  come  to  me — but  I  am  sure  it 
never  will  come— would  be  to  hear  that  you  had  gone 
backward,  that  you  were  no  longer  true  to  your  own 
high  and  noble  nature.  And  as  long  as  we  two  shall 
live,  Rex,"— she  spoke  his  name  softly,— "I  will  jpray 
for  you." 

Eunice's  voice  had  dropped  lower  and  lower  as  she 
spoke,  but  every  word  fell  with  crystal  clearness  on 
Rex's  heart.  He  had  flung  himself  down  sullenly 
in  his  chair  when  she  began  to  speak,  but  as  she  went 
on  he  leaned  forward,  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees, 


A  STERN  RESOLVE  245 

his  head  bowed  in  his  hands ;  and  so  he  sat  for  a  few 
minutes  after  she  had  ceased  speaking.  Then  he  arose ; 
the  sulienness  was  all  gone,  and  there  was  a  look  in 
his  dark  eyes  that  Eunice  could  hardly  understand — 
half  sad,  half  stern. 

' '  It  shall  he  as  you  wish, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  I  will  go. ' ' 

He  took  her  hand  and  looked  long  into  her  eyes, 
either  with  the  hope  that  even  yet  she  might  relent, 
or  with  the  feeling  that  it  was  for  the  last  time. 

"I  shall  not  forget  what  you  have  said,  and  I  shall 
not  cease  utterly  to  hope;  for  I  believe  that  you  love 
me,  and  some  day  you  will  see  that  you  are  wrong  and 
I  am  right.  Until  that  day  I  shall  not  trouble  you; 
and  if  it  is  your  wish  we  will  meet  as  the  merest 
acquaintances.  Yet  I  do  not  want  you  to  think  that 
I  am  not  loving  you  all  the  time.  Every  throb  of  my 
heart,  while  life  lasts,  is  yours." 

He  clasped  the  hand  he  held  with  so  fierce  a  grip 
that  she  would  have  cried  out  with  pain  but  that  she 
saw  he  was  unconscious  of  hurting  her,  and  was 
struggling  with  some  strong  impulse.  Suddenly  he 
almost  flung  it  from  him. 

"No,"  he  said  sternly;  "I  will  wait!"  And  then 
seeing  her  look  of  surprise  and  pain,  he  added  more 
gently : 

' '  I  was  going  to  ask  you,  Eunice,  to  kiss  me,  for  this 
may  be  a  long  parting.  But  I  have  concluded  that 
I  do  not  want  to  run  the  risk  of  a  refusal  or  of  your 
compliance  from  mere  pity.  I  will  wait  until,  some 
day,  you  come  to  me  and  say,  'Rex,  I  love  you,  and  I 
will  be  your  wife.'  ' 

Eunice  was  looking  up  at  him  in  mute  appeal.    Her 


246  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

whole  soul  was  longing  to  give  him  that  kiss.  Now 
that  she  felt  this  was  the  end  of  it  all,  even  her  stern 
conscience  would  not  have  felt  it  wrong  so  to  con 
secrate  the  death  and  burial  of  this  love.  Rex  under 
stood  her  look  and  answered  it. 

"I  must  go  at  once,  or  I  will  break  my  resolve," 
he  said;  and  then,  with  sudden  heat  and  between  his 
set  teeth,  "I  will  not  have  your  kisses,  Eunice  Har- 
lowe,  until  I  can  have  you." 

He  whirled  on  his  heel  and,  with  no  adieu  but  his 
customary  low  bow,  quitted  the  room,  leaving  Eunice 
standing  motionless,  half  shocked  and  frightened  at 
his  last  words  and  tones  and  the  fierce  glow  in  his 
dark  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   GUNS  OF   SUMTBB 

THE  days  and  weeks  dragged  wearily  along  for 
Eunice.  She  had  hardly  realized  how  much  she 
would  miss  Rex's  bright  presence,  and  what  a  void 
there  would  be  in  her  life -which  none  of  the  simple 
merrymakings  of  Bellaire  society  could  fill.  Rex 
called  occasionally  on  Mrs.  Charlton  and  the  ladies, 
and  Mrs.  Charlton,  suspecting  that  meant  Eunice,  tried 
at  first  to  excuse  herself.  But  Eunice  gave  her  so 
quietly  and  so  decidedly  to  understand  that  it  did  not, 
and  that  she  would  on  no  account  go  to  the  parlor 
without  her,  that  Mrs.  Charlton  concluded  at  once 
there  was  trouble  of  some  kind  between  them.  She 
confided  her  suspicions  to  Dr.  Charlton,  and  the  good 
doctor  was  much  concerned. 

"I  was  afraid  once,"  he  said,  "that  Rex  was  in 
clined  to  amuse  himself  with  her;  but  I  believe  now 
that  it  has  been  a  grand  passion  with  him,  and  she 
certainly  has  produced  a  wonderful  transformation 
in  him.  I  would  almost  be  willing  to  trust  him  to 
make  her  happy  now ;  but  of  course  since  South  Caro 
lina  has  seceded,  they  can  never  marry,  and  I  am 
heartily  sorry  for  them  both.  Do  you  think,  my 

17  247 


248  IN  OLD  BELLAIBE 

dear,"  anxiously,— "that  she  feels  it  much?  I  would 
not  have  her  coming  here  result  in  suffering  for 
worlds." 

"I  am  sure  I  can't  tell,"  returned  Mrs.  Charlton, 
reflectively;  "she  is  always  so  quiet  and  so  reserved. 
But  I  sometimes  fancy  she  is  a  little  paler,  and  she 
certainly  eats  almost  nothing— hardly  enough  to  keep 
her  alive,  I  should  say." 

' '  Dear !  dear ! ' '  groaned  the  doctor,  ruefully ; ' '  these 
troublesome  young  people!  Can't  you  get  her  to 
confide  in  you,  my  love?  It  would  help  her  just 
to  talk  it  over." 

Mrs.  Charlton  promised  to  try,  but  she  never  suc 
ceeded.  There  was  no  getting  near  enough  to  Eunice 
on  that  subject  to  make  the  beginning  of  a  confidence. 

Once  Eunice  did  not  go  down  when,  as  usual,  Rex 
called  for  the  ladies.  The  very  next  day,  "Judge" 
brought  her  a  note.  It  read : 

' '  EUNICE  :  Never  do  that  again.  I  only  call  when  I  feel  that 
I  must  see  you,  must  look  on  your  dear  face,  or  die.  Do  not 
deny  me  that  one  small  pleasure. 

"BEX." 

And  so  she  always  came  down  to  the  parlor  when 
he  called,  and  plied  her  little  shuttle,  while  Rex 
talked  to  Mrs.  Charlton  and  Lucy,  with  an  occasional 
remark  to  ' '  Miss  Harlowe, ' '  to  whom  he  was  always 
coldly  formal,  and  went  away  strengthened  in  his 
determination  to  win  her  finally,  but  more  hopeless 
than  ever  of  any  immediate  yielding  on  her  part. 

As  for  Eunice,  as  the  days  went  on,  in  spite  of 


THE   GUNS  OF  SUMTEB  249 

Rex's  note,  she  began  to  feel  that  he  could  not  really 
care  for  her.  He  passed  her  on  the  street  with  the 
most  formal  bow.  She  had  met  him  once  walking  with 
Miss  Lydia  and  apparently  in  the  gayest  spirits,  and 
rumor  had  it  that  he  was  paying  marked  attention  to 
Miss  Annie  Allen,  the  organist.  Eunice  said  to  herself 
that  she  was  glad,  and  that  she  had  judged  him 
rightly  when  she  thought  him  incapable  of  a  serious 
attachment;  and  yet  she  knew  she  was  miserable,  and 
she  took  herself  roundly  to  task  when  she  discovered 
that  it  made  her  misery  far  more  acute  to  think  that 
he  was  so  quickly  consoled,  than  if  she  had  believed 
him  unhappy  and  secretly  pining  for  her. 

And  so  the  weeks  went  on,  and  now  spring  had 
come;  the  crocuses  and  snowdrops  of  March  had 
given  place  to  the  daffodils  and  hyacinths  and  tulips 
of  April.  Peach-trees  and  cherry-trees  were  masses 
of  pink  and  white  bloom,  and  there  was  a  tender 
green  on  the  maples  and  lindens  in  the  campus. 
The  trees  that  arched  Lovers'  Lane  threw  lace-like 
shadows  on  the  path  that  Eunice  always  took  on  her 
morning  walk  to  school  through  the  soft,  fragrant  air, 
and  the  birds  sang  their  nuptial  songs  on  the  high 
boughs  with  riotous  joy. 

Never  did  the  sun  shine  so  Brightly  nor  the  birds 
sing  so  madly  nor  the  flowers  bloom  so  sweetly  as 
in  that  spring  of  '61.  Yet  a  dark  cloud,  gloomy  with 
portents  of  war,  hung  over  the  land,  and  anxious 
eyes  were  turned  constantly  to  distant  South  Carolina, 
and  ears  were  strained  to  catch  the  echoes  of  that  first 


250  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

shot,  now  hourly  expected.  And  at  last  it  came.  It 
rolled  over  the  fair  valleys  of  the  South,  and  reverber 
ated  among  the  mountains  of  the  North,  until  it  filled 
the  land  with  its  awful  thunders. 

There  were  many  hearts,  North  and  South,  that 
turned  faint  and  sick  under  those  first  dreadful 
sounds,  and  among  them  were  two  at  least  in  the 
little  family  circle  of  the  Charltons.  Mrs.  Charlton 
felt  that  the  dividing  stroke  had  fallen  at  last  that 
separated  her  from  kindred  and  friends;  and  Eunice 
knew  that  unsatisfactory  and  painful  as  had  been  her 
intercourse  with  Rex  through  the  last  few  months, 
even  that  was  at  an  end  now. 

It  was  Tuesday  morning  when  the  news  reached 
them,  and  she  was  not  surprised  when,  in  the  after 
noon,  "Judge"  brought  her  a  note.  She  read  it  with 
a  pale  face  and  a  beating  heart. 

"EUNICE:  I  go  in  a  day  or  two— perhaps  to-morrow.  I  must 
see  you  before  I  go.  Meet  me  at  eight  o'clock  this  evening  in 
Lovers '  Lane. ' ' 

It  did  not  even  occur  to  her  not  to  meet  him.  She, 
too,  felt  that  she  must  see  him  for  the  last  time.  When 
she  passed  through  the  little  gate  into  the  lane,  there 
was  light  enough  from  a  young  moon,  whose  rays  fell 
freely  through  the  thin  foliage,  to  see  him  walking 
with  hurried  strides,  his  back  to  her,  down  toward 
the  Iron  Gate.  At  the  click  of  the  little  gate  he 
turned  quickly  and  came  toward  her.  He  stopped 
directly  in  front  of  her,  and  without  waiting  a  moment 
began : 


THE  GUNS  OF  SUMTER  251 

"Eunice,  will  you  marry  me  and  go  home  with  me 
to-morrow?"  She  could  see  very  plainly  his  white, 
stern  face,  and  the  feverish  glow  in  his  dark  eyes. 
She  longed  to  say,  "Yes,  I  will  go."  Country  and 
friends,  father  and  mother — nothing  seemed  to  her 
then  of  much  moment  compared  with  the  happiness 
of  seeing  that  pale,  beautiful  face  light  up  with  joy 
and  love.  But  she  only  shook  her  head  and  said,  "I 
cannot,  Rex. ' '  He  looked  at  her  a  moment  with  wild 
eyes,  and  then  seizing  her  hand  in  a  vice-like  grip, 
he  said  fiercely : 

"You  don't  know  what  you  say,  Eunice.  You  must! 
Do  you  know"— hoarsely— "  what  the  guns  of  Sumter 
mean?  I  did  not  believe  it  for  a  long  time,  but  I 
know  now.  It  is  war!  When  I  go  from  here  I 
go  to  fight,  perhaps  to  death.  I  cannot  die  unless  you 
bear  my  name.  It  is  grim  courting,  Eunice;  but 
I  am  not  asking  you  so  much  to  be  my  wife  as  to  be 
my  widow.  I  can  go  bravely  to  battle  when  I  feel 
that  in  fighting  for  my  home  I  am  fighting  for  you, 
and  that  if  I  die  there  is  one  wearing  my  name  who 
will  mourn  for  me,  and  that  if  you  cannot  Ke  mine 
on  earth,  you  will  be  mine  in  heaven. ' ' 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  he  would  not  let  her. 

"There  is  only  one  word  that  I  want  to  hear  you 
say,  Eunice.  Come  with  me  now  to  Dr.  Charlton, 
and  say  it  there.  He  will  marry  us  when  he  knows 
how  it  is,  and  to-morrow  we  will  go  home  together. 
Come,  Eunice,  now— this  very  minute. ' ' 

As  well  try  to  drag  the  Plymouth  Rock  from  its  eter 
nal  foundations  as  to  move  this  little  Puritan  maiden. 


252  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

He  was  maddened  by  her  sad  but  firm  resistance, 
and  for  a  moment  he  had  wild  thoughts  of  picking 
her  up  in  his  arms  and  fleeing  with  her  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth.  To  feel  himself  helpless  before  a  slen 
der  girl  that  he  could  crush  in  his  arms,  made  him 
Beside  himself.  He  would  not  at  first  recognize  that 
he  could  not  prevail  with  her  by  the  mere  strength 
of  his  determination.  When  at  last  it  slowly  dawned 
upon  him  that  there  was  absolutely  no  hope,  despair 
and  resentment  were  almost  equally  mingled  in  his 
heart. 

Eunice,  her  own  heart  torn  with  anguish  for  herself, 
and  for  him  even  more,  would  have  tried  to  comfort 
him  in  every  gentle  and  tender  way ;  but  he  would  not 
listen  to  her.  He  stood  a  minute  looking  off  with 
fierce  eyes  and  stern  lips,  and  she  crept  up  to  him 
and  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  arm,  looking  up  with 
eyes  that  pleaded  mutely  for  kindness  and  forgive 
ness.  He  glanced  down  and  met  the  look,  but  it  did 
not  melt  him.  He  flung  her  hand  from  his  arm  and 
laughed  bitterly. 

"I  might  have  known,"  he  said,  "that  you  were  a 
cold,  heartless  Yankee.  I  have  been  a  fool ! ' ' 

And  then  with  elaborate  courtesy : 

"Miss  Harlowe,  I  cannot  leave  you  here.  Shall  I 
accompany  you  to  the  house?" 

She  turned  and  walked  beside  him,  hoping  every 
moment  his  mood  would  change,  but  not  daring  to 
say  anything  to  him  while  that  bitter  smile  still  lin 
gered  on  his  face.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps  she  stopped 


THE  GUNS  OP  SUMTER  253 

and  put  out  her  hand,  faltering,  "Good-by,  Rex," 
but  he  would  not  notice  the  hand.  With  an  ironical 
bow,  he  said,  "I  will  bid  you  good  evening,  Miss 
Harlowe,"  and,  lifting  his  hat,  passed  through  the 
little  gate  in  the  hedge  without  a  backward  glance. 

It  was  a  long  and  weary  night  for  Eunice,  who 
lived  over  every  word  and  every  look  from  the  day 
when  she  first  saw  him  on  the  Burton  steps  to  this 
last  bitter  parting.  She  did  not  knpw  when  he  would 
go:  perhaps  on  that  same  early  train  the  other  South 
Carolinians  had  taken.  If  she  could  only  see  him  once 
more,  and  have  him  tell  her  that  he  forgave  her  for 
the  pain  she  had  made  him  suffer ! 

At  half-past  five  o'clock  she  rose,  glad  to  forsake 
her  weary  bed,  and  throwing  a  dressing-gown  around 
her,  she  sat  down  by  the  window.  In  a  few  moments 
she  saw  "Judge"  with  his  wheelbarrow  piled  with 
trunks  and  boxes,  and  she  knew  then  he  was  going, 
and  sat  watching  with  painful  eagerness  for  a  last 
glimpse  of  him. 

She  saw  him:  his  graceful,  erect  figure  dressed,  as 
usual,  with  the  last  degree  of  carefulness,  walking 
rapidly,  and  talking  earnestly  to  Mr.  Rogers,  who 
was  beside  him.  Once  he  turned  towards  her  window, 
but  before  she  could  open  the  shutter  through  which 
she  was  looking  and  wave  her  hand  in  farewell,  he 
was  out  of  sight.  She  listened  a  few  moments  more, 
and  heard  the  Iron  Gate  clang,  and  then  she  turned 
drearily  away.  The  romance  of  her  life  was  ended. 

But  after  breakfast  "Judge"  brought  her  a  little 


254  IN   OLD   BELLAIRE 

note.     She  tore  it  open  with  trembling  fingers  and 
read  with  eyes  that  could  hardly  see : 

* '  DEAR  EUNICE  :  Forgive  me  for  my  rudeness  to-night.  I  was 
wild  with  pain,  but  that  is  no  excuse  for  being  so  cruel  to  you, 
and  BO  far  forgetting  myself.  You  are  the  dearest,  sweetest, 
loveliest  woman  God  ever  made — the  only  woman  in  the  world 
for  me.  In  life  and  in  death  I  am  yours, 

"BEX." 


IT  was  fortunate  for  Eunice  that  the  rush  of  events 
distracted  all  attention  from  her  pale  face  and 
languid  air.  Struggle  as  she  might,  she  could  not 
rouse  herself  to  any  animation,  or  any  show  of  in 
terest  in  the  great  drama  enacting  around  her.  To 
her  horror,  she  began  to  feel  that  her  interest  lay 
with  the  other  side,  and  she  loathed  herself  as  a  crea 
ture  without  patriotism  and  without  honor. 

The  President's  call  for  seventy-five  thousand  men, 
following  fast  on  the  fall  of  Sumter,  threw  *he  college 
into  even  wilder  excitement.  The  Southerners  who 
had  remained  up  to  this  time,  either  in  obedience  to 
commands  from  home  or  because  they  believed  the 
troubles  would  soon  be  settled  and  there  would  be 
no  necessity  for  leaving,  decamped  at  once.  Among 
the  Northern  students,  many  responded  to  Lincoln's 
call,  and  left  the  campus  for  the  field.  Those  three- 
months'  men  were  the  very  pick  and  flower  of  the 
country,  brave  young  fellows  of  the  noblest  aspira 
tions,  and  a  large  proportion  of  them  from  the  col 
leges  of  the  land.  Lucy  was  full  of  enthusiasm  and 
glowing  with  patriotism,  and  Eunice  felt  like  a 

255 


25G  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

traitor  by  contrast,  her  heart  was  so  cold  and  dead 
within  her. 

But  though  she  escaped  much  observation  through 
the  stir  of  the  times  that  drew  all  thoughts  in  one 
direction,  she  did  not  wholly  escape  it.  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Charlton  noticed  her  air  of  passive  endurance,  her 
lack  of  joyous  enthusiasm,  and  thought  they  under 
stood  it,  and  in  every  way  tried  to  shield  and  en 
courage  her  with  their  silent  sympathy.  Mr.  Rogers 
noticed  it,  also,  and  it  brought  him  the  keenest  pain 
when  he,  too,  thought  he  understood  it. 

On  that  early-morning  walk  to  the  train,  Rex  had 
told  him  just  enough  of  his  story  to  make  his  heart 
ache  for  the  two  lovers  separated  by  such  a  grim  fate. 
He  was  full  of  tender  pity  for  Eunice,  and  one  even 
ing,  as  they  walked  slowly  along  the  familiar  Lovers' 
Lane,  he  told  her  how  much  he  had  learned  to  love 
Rex  of  late,  and  then  drew  her  on  to  talk  of  him  with 
such  delicate  sympathy  that,  almost  before  she  knew 
what  she  was  doing,  Eunice  found  herself  confiding 
to  him  all  the  bitterness  and  anguish  this  love  had 
brought  her:  shame  that  she  should  love  a  traitor, 
anguish  that  nothing  but  an  eternal  separation  lay 
before  them. 

In  his  clear,  strong  fashion,  Mr.  Rogers  showed  her 
there  ought  to  be  no  shame.  Rex,  in  his  mistaken 
way,  was  as  much  a  patriot  as  himself,  and  she  must 
not  look  upon  this  separation  as  eternal.  A  few 
months  would  settle  all  these  troubles,  and  then  there 
would  be  no  reason  in  the  world  why  she  should  not 
give  her  hand  where  she  had  given  her  heart. 


WEARING  HER  COLOES  257 

It  was  a  strange  role  for  him  to  be  playing,— plead 
ing  the  cause  of  his  rival,— and  he  recognized  it  and 
smiled  a  little  bitterly  to  himself.  But  he  was  rewarded 
in  the  brightness  and  hope  that  communicated  them 
selves  to  Eunice 's  tones  when  she  next  spoke.  He  had 
really  rolled  a  great  load  from  her  heart,  restored  her 
to  her  self-respect,  and  given  her  a  little  hope  in 
place  of  the  black  despair  that  had  been  crushing 
her;  and  he  was  unselfishly  glad  to  have  been  able 
to  comfort  her.  But  his  own  spirits  fell  as  hers  rose, 
and  he  felt  the  need  of  a  little  comfort  from  her  in 
turn. 

' '  After  all, ' '  he  said,  ' '  Rex  is  greatly  to  be  envied : 
he  is  going  out  to  try  the  fortunes  of  war  with  a  star 
of  love  and  hope  to  brighten  the  path  of  duty.  I  can 
easily  understand  that  death  itself  would  have  no 
terrors  for  a  man  glorified  by  such  an  assurance,  and 
I  can  find  it  in  my  heart  to  envy  him." 

There  was  a  ring  of  sadness  in  his  tones  that  Eu 
nice  did  not  for  one  moment  connect  with  herself, 
but  that  yet  touched  her  heart.  She  felt  he  was  not 
happy,  and  she  wondered  in  a  vague  way  if  there 
could  be  some  one  in  his  Philadelphia  home  whose 
unkindness  made  him  envy  Rex's  lot. 

The  weeks  passed  on,  crowded  with  excitement  and 
intense  feeling.  The  college,  drained  by  both  North 
and  South,  numbered  a  mere  handful  of  students; 
and,  added  to  all  the  anxiety  of  the  times,  the  good 
doctor  trembled  for  the  life  of  Old  Tomlinson.  He 
knew  that  he  was  at  the  helm,  and  upon  his  skil- 


258  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

ful  guidance  alone  hung  its  fate,  whether  it  should 
founder  on  the  rocks  or  outride  the  storms. 

Eunice  went  home  for  two  summer  vacations  and 
returned  in  the  following  Septembers ;  but  by  the  fall 
of  '62  war  prices  and  hard  times  had  begun  to  tell 
upon  people  living  on  salaries.  One  by  one,  her  pa 
trons  had  been  compelled  to  withdraw  their  children 
from  a  school  where  tuition  must  be  paid  and  send 
them  to  the  free  public  ones.  Early  in  the  fall  it 
was  evident  St.  John's  school  must  close,  and  Eunice, 
left  with  almost  no  money,  far  from  home  and  too 
late  to  make  any  other  engagement  for  the  year, 
would  have  found  herself  in  great  straits  but  for  Dr. 
Charlton,  who  offered  her  a  home  and  a  tiny  salary 
to  teach  his  children  until  she  could  find  something 
better,  and  kept  a  constant  lookout  to  find  the  some 
thing  better  for  her. 

He  was  greatly  embarrassed  himself.  The  endow 
ment  of  the  college  had  always  been  small,  and  now 
much  of  its  funds  became  unavailable,  being  invested 
in  the  South  or  in  securities  that  the  war  made  un 
profitable.  The  number  of  students  was  far  too  small 
to  pay  the  running  expenses,  and  the  faculty  had  to 
submit  to  big  deficits  in  their  small  salaries.  Early 
in  the  war  prices  had  gone  up  with  a  rush  to  three 
and  four  times  their  old  rates,  and  it  was  the  neces 
saries  of  life  that  went  the  highest.  How  that  little 
band  of  devoted  professors  ever  lived  through  those 
four  years  is  an  unsolved  enigma.  Dr.  Charlton,  with 
his  clear  vision,  saw  at  once  that  the  only  hope  for 
the  college  was  in  an  endowment,  and  then  began 


WEARING  HER  COLORS  259 

a  series  of  herculean  labors  to  secure  a  sufficient  sum 
to  make  it  independent — labors  that  eventually  placed 
the  college  on  a  solid  foundation  of  prosperity;  but 
the  anxiety,  the  strain,  and  the  almost  superhuman 
exertions  of  that  anxious  time  told  heavily  on  his 
health  and  strength. 

Eunice  was  learning  to  love  the  Charltons  dearly 
in  the  hardships  they  suffered  together  through  those 
two  years  of  the  war.  Mrs.  Charlton  was  shining  in 
a  new  light  as  a  careful  and  able  financier.  The 
table  that  had  once  been  so  generous  was  almost 
meager  now,  and  her  children's  clothes  and  her  own 
were  turned  and  twisted  to  an  incredible  extent  to 
keep  up  the  respectability  of  outside  appearance  that 
she  felt  her  position  demanded.  She  had  prided  her 
self  once  upon  her  fancied  economies ;  they  were  very 
real  ones  now.  Yet  when  the  times  were  darkest  and 
when  even  the  doctor's  buoyant  spirits  had  turned 
blue  and  despondent,  she  had  always  a  beaming  smile 
and  cheering  word  to  make  the  home  circle  bright  and 
happy. 

In  all  these  long  months  Eunice  had  heard  from 
Rex  but  once,  and  that  was  a  little  note  scribbled 
hurriedly  in  the  saddle  and  intrusted  to  a  friendly 
Union  picket  to  mail.  The  picket  had  been  true  to 
his  trust,  and  the  little  line  that  said,  ' '  I  am  thinking 
of  you  and  waiting  for  you.— REX,"  was  almost  her 
most  cherished  possession:  not  quite — the  note  that 
she  had  received  the  morning  after  he  went  away 
would  always  hold  the  first  place. 

But  it  was  very  shortly  Before  one  of  the  great 


260  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

battles  of  the  early  war  that  Eunice  had  received 
this  note  from  Rex,  and  none  had  come  from  him 
since.  Sometimes  she  feared  he  had  fallen  in  that 
battle,  and  indeed  when  she  read  of  the  awful  carnage 
on  both  sides  with  which  the  papers  were  full  after 
every  battle,  she  wondered  how  he  could  possibly  es 
cape.  Her  heart  turned  sick  within  her,  and  life 
under  the  blue  and  gold  skies  of  that  smiling  val 
ley  looked  gray  and  cold  to  her. 

Through  all  these  dreadful  months  the  friendship 
of  John  Rogers  was  a  tower  of  strength  to  her.  He 
had  not  gone  to  the  front  with  the  tide  that  swept 
out  from  the  college  at  Lincoln's  first  call,  but  had 
kept  steadily  on  with  his  college  course.  In  those 
days  it  required  almost  more  moral  courage  to  stay 
than  to  go.  Rogers  had  made  his  decision,  deliber 
ately,  to  watch  the  course  of  events  and  be  ready 
when  he  found  that  he  was  really  needed.  From  the 
first  he  had  not  shared  the  sanguine  hopes  of  those 
who  thought  the  war  to  be  only  an  affair  of  a  few 
months;  he  believed  it  would  be  a  war  of  years. 
If  so,  there  would  be  no  coming  back  to  college  to 
finish  his  education,  and  he  deliberately  determined 
to  go  steadily  ahead  with  it  now  as  long  as  he  could. 
The  hour  might  easily  come  when  his  country  would 
need  him  more  than  it  needed  him  now,  and  he  would 
be  ready;  but  in  the  meantime  he  would  secure  as 
much  as  possible  of  the  equipment  that  he  felt  so 
necessary  to  his  future  usefulness. 

On  a  golden  September  Sunday  morning  Eunice 
was  in  her  old  place  in  the  choir  of  St.  John's. 


WEAEING  HER  COLORS  261 

Rogers  was  beside  her  as  leader,  for  college  had 
opened  two  weeks  before  and  he  had  come  back  to 
finish  his  senior  year.  Down  in  the  church  below  there 
was  but  a  thin  scattering  of  black  coats  as  compared 
with  the  throng  that  had  darkened  the  rear  of  the 
church  on  Eunice's  first  Sunday  at  St.  John's;  and 
to  Eunice  they  looked  more  like  boys  than  like  the 
young  men  of  two  years  before.  She  wondered  whe 
ther  it  was  because  she  herself  felt  so  much  older  that 
they  seemed  so  much  younger,  or  whether  the  young 
men  had  all  gone  to  the  war  and  there  were  none  but 
boys  left  to  send  to  college. 

For  days  there  had  been  flying  rumors  of  a  great 
invasion.  Lee  was  sending  his  Army  of  Northern 
Virginia  up  the  Valley.  It  had  already  crossed  the 
Potomac,  and  now  no  one  in  Bellaire  doubted  that  an 
invasion  of  Pennsylvania  was  intended.  For  days 
great  droves  of  cattle  and  horses  had  been  passing 
through  Bellaire,  the  farmers  driving  them  northward 
to  a  place  of  safety,  and  that  very  morning  there  had 
come  a  rumor  that  Harper's  Ferry  had  fallen.  Harp 
er's  Ferry  was  the  gateway  to  the  Valley;  and  that 
little  handful  of  people  devoutly  joining  in  the  ser 
vices  on  that  golden  morning  of  the  fall  of  '62  were 
a-quiver  with  excitement  and  dread. 

On  their  way  home  from  choir  rehearsal  the  evening 
before  (for  it  had  come  to  be  understood  between 
them  that  he  should  be  always  on  hand  to  take  Rex's 
place  when  an  attendant  was  needed),  Mr.  Rogers 
had  said  he  had  received  notice  that  his  company  was 
liable  to  be  called  out  at  any  moment. 


262  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

' '  I  had  a  great  mind  to  wear  my  uniform  to-night, ' ' 
he  said  gaily,  for  he  saw  that  Eunice  was  shocked 
and  trembling  at  the  news.  "I  wanted  you  to  see 
how  well  I  look  in  it.  My  sword  and  belt  arrived 
to-day— I  'm  first  lieutenant,  you  know.  I  tried  them 
on  before  supper,  and  I  look  very  grand,  I  assure 
you. ' ' 

Then,  as  Eunice  did  not  speak,  he  stopped  a  moment 
under  the  trees  and  added  gravely: 

"Dear  Eunice,  Rex  went  out  to  battle  blessed  and 
crowned  by  a  love  that  must  give  him  courage  to  go 
joyously  to  death  or  victory.  I  have  no  such  inspira 
tion.  If  I  die,  there  are  few  to  mourn  me,  and  it 
will  make  no  real  difference  in  any  one's  life.  If  I 
go  now,  I  go  to  stay  until  the  war  is  over,  for  I  shall 
exchange  as  soon  as  possible  from  the  militia  into 
the  veterans.  Will  you  not  send  me  forth  with  your 
blessing?  Will  you  not  think  of  me  sometimes  in  the 
tent  or  on  the  field,  where  I  shall  often  think  of  you?" 

It  was  harder  than  ever  for  Eunice  to  speak,  and 
her  voice  was  so  low  and  trembled  so  greatly  that 
Rogers  had  to  bend  his  head  to  catch  her  words. 

"Oh,  my  friend,"  she  faltered,  "I  shall  think  of 
you  very,  very  often.  I  am  proud  of  your  friendship, 
and  to  know  that  you  are  fighting  to  preserve  the 
country  we  both  love  will  help  greatly  to  mitigate 
my  shame  that  I  should  love  one  who  is  fighting  to 
destroy  it." 

This  morning,  up  in  the  choir,  she  was  finding  it 
hard  to  follow  the  words  of  the  good  pastor— noble 
and  stirring  words,  inspired  by  the  greatness  of  the 


WEARING  HER  COLORS  263 

times;  instead  she  was  involuntarily  listening  for 
the  signal  that  should  call  this  friend,  too,  to  that 
black  gulf  of  battle  and  death. 

They  had  sung  for  anthem  the  noble  "Battle  Hymn 
of  the  Republic": 

"In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me; 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  them  free, 
While  God  is  marching  on;" 

and  with  all  hearts  glowing  with  the  stirring  words 
and  music,  the  preacher  had  taken  his  text: 

"Except  the  Lord  build  the  house,  they  labor  in  vain  that 
build  it;  except  the  Lord  keep  the  city,  the  watchman  waketh 


There  could  have  been  no  better  music,  no  better 
text,  with  which  to  send  out  to  battle  those  young 
hearts  beating  high  with  courage  and  patriotism ;  but 
Eunice,  listening  to  them,  kept  thinking  of  the  South 
ern  camps,  where  at  this  very  moment  zealous  army 
chaplains  were  preaching — perhaps  from  the  same 
text— to  bronzed  and  war-worn  veterans  in  gray. 
Who  could  tell  which  was  the  Lord's  side? 

And  then,  in  the  midst  of  her  questionings,  she 
heard  a  slight  stir  in  the  rear  of  the  church  below. 
She  leaned  a  little  forward  over  the  railing  of  the 
gallery  and  saw  a  man  moving  silently  about  among 
the  students,  who,  one  after  another,  rose  and  quietly 
stole  out  of  the  church.  In  a  few  moments  the  same 

18 


264  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

man  had  mounted  the  gallery  stairs  and  was  speak 
ing  to  Mr.  Rogers  and  to  two  or  three  others  in  the 
choir.  Rogers  turned  to  her  and  his  lips  formed  the 
words,  "It  has  come";  then  he,  too,  stole  away  after 
the  others. 

College  discipline  was  stern  in  those  days.  In  the 
tremendous  excitement  of  the  morning  there  had  been 
a  line  of  students  at  the  doctor's  office  begging  to  be 
excused  from  church.  But  there  was  something  of 
the  Spartan  in  Dr.  Charlton's  nature,  and  he  had  but 
one  reply  for  each:  "The  duty  of  the  morning  is  to 
attend  divine  service;  if  the  summons  comes,  let  it 
find  us  at  our  post,  like  good  soldiers."  And  such 
was  the  magnetism  of  his  personality  and  the  inspira 
tion  of  his  glowing  eye  that  there  were  no  murmur- 
ings  among  the  disappointed  students. 

Now,  however,  it  was  another  matter.  The  summons 
had  come !  At  the  stir  among  the  students  the  doctor 
caught  the  preacher's  eye  and  signaled  to  him  that 
it  would  be  better  to  close  the  service  at  once;  and 
with  his  thirdly  and  fourthly  and  his  grand  closing 
peroration  yet  untouched,  the  good  man  announced 
the  doxology,  and  as  the  last  note  died  away  he  ex 
tended  his  hands  over  the  bowed  heads  of  the  people 
and  with  trembling  voice  prayed: 

"The  blessing  of  the  Lord  God  of  battles  be  upon 
you  and  abide  with  you,  and  may  the  strength  of  our 
Lord  go  with  those  who  go  forth  this  hour  to  war." 

Then  was  there  hurry  and  rush  on  the  quiet  Sab 
bath  streets.  In  all  directions  boys  and  young  men 
were  running  wildly,  and  the  women  and  the  older 


WEAEING  HER  COLORS  265 

men  were  not  far  behind  them.  You  might  have 
thought  the  rebels  were  at  their  doors,  such  was  the 
excitement  in  the  staid  old  town. 

Dr.  Charlton  had  been  among  the  foremost  to  reach 
the  college;  he  must  see  his  boys  before  they  were 
off.  From  room  to  room  he  went,  encouraging  the 
pale  and  trembling  ones,  restraining  the  ardor  of  the 
too  impetuous,  leaving  words  of  cheer  and  wisdom  and 
benediction  with  all.  His  heart  was  wrung.  They 
were  but  boys,  only  a  few  years  older  than  his  own 
two  little  fellows,  and  who  could  tell  what  lay  before 
them! 

At  home  Mrs.  Charlton  was  working  feverishly. 
The  children  stood  around  in  an  awe-struck  circle  to 
see  mother  sew  on  Sunday;  for  she  and  Lucy  and 
Eunice  were  hurriedly  making  such  little  comforts 
as  they  thought  the  young  soldiers  might  need  in 
camp.  No  one  thought  of  dinner,  for  in  two  hours 
there  would  be  on  the  siding  in  front  of  the  campus 
the  train  that  was  to  bear  these  brave  young  fellows 
down  the  Valley  to  meet  Lee ! 

There  had  been  a  constant  stream  of  callers  at  the 
Charlton  house.  Every  boy  leaving  the  college  had 
run  in .  for  a  moment  to  say  good-by  to  dear  Mrs. 
Charlton,  who  sent  them  all  off  with  the  mother's 
blessing  their  own  mothers  would  have  longed  to  give 
them,  with  tears  and  smiles  and  brave  words  that  com 
forted  many  a  boyish  heart  on  that  bloody  battle-field 
of  Antietam  toward  which  their  young  faces  were  set. 

Last  of  all  came  John  Rogers,  with  no  more  excite 
ment  in  his  manner  than  usual,  only  perhaps  a  little 


266  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

graver  than  was  his  wont.  He  brought  his  sword 
and  his  belt  in  his  hand,  and  before  them  all  he  boldly 
asked  Eunice  to  buckle  them  on  for  him  and  send 
him  out  like  the  knights  of  old  with  her  blessing. 
As  he  watched  her  slender  fingers  performing  their 
office  tremblingly,  but  with  the  deftness  natural  to 
them,  he  said,  trying  to  speak  lightly : 

"And  now  I  claim  the  right  to  wear  your  colors; 
you  must  let  me  have  that  little  scarlet  ribbon  at  your 
throat  to  tie  in  my  buttonhole.  You  see,"  he  ex 
plained  to  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton  and  Lucy,  who 
stood  by,  "since  Miss  Harlowe  cannot  go  into  the 
army  and  do  her  own  fighting,  I  have  promised  to 
represent  her  on  the  field  as  her  devoted  friend  and 
brother,  and  I  think  that  gives  me  a  right  to  wear 
her  colors." 

And  so  he  went  off,  to  return  no  more  until  the  war 
should  be  over,— to  all  appearance  gaily,  proudly 
clanking  his  sword  and  wearing  his  bit  of  scarlet  with 
the  fond  wishes  and  tremulous  blessing  of  his  four 
friends  showered  upon  him. 


Wearing  her  colors. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

FLIGHT  FROM   THE  OLD  TOWN 

THE  June  of  '63  was  no  less  lovely  and  smiling 
and  peaceful  than  Junes  had  always  been  in  the 
beautiful  Northumberland  Valley.  Little  did  Nature 
seem  to  know  or  care  that  the  great  Southern  general 
was  even  then  making  ready  an  army  of  invasion  to 
despoil  her  of  her  beauty.  Only  nine  months  since 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  had  crossed  the  Po 
tomac,  and  now  Lee  was  preparing  for  another  cross 
ing  with  a  more  powerful  army,  whose  goal  should 
be  not  Maryland,  but  Pennsylvania,  and  whose  ob 
ject  not  raiding  and  inciting  to  insurrection  but  in 
vasion  and  conquest.  He  was  grimly  determined  to 
risk  the  future  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  on  this 
one  cast  of  the  die. 

It  was  Commencement  Week  at  Old  Tomlinson,  al 
ways  the  gala  week  of  the  year  in  Bellaire ;  and  whe 
ther  Commencement  had  been  set  for  the  blooming 
of  the  roses,  or  whether  the  roses  timed  their  blos 
soming  to  Commencement,  the  old  town  was  a  riot  of 
bloom.  From  countless  gardens,  shut  in  by  high 
brick  walls,  floated  the  fragrance  of  millions  of  the 
lovely  flower ;  the  barracks  were  abloom  with  them, 
and  the  president's  garden  was  a  glorious  bower  of 

267 


268  IN  OLD  BELLAIKE 

them— every  winding  path  hedged  with  them,  and 
long  garlands  of  roses,  pink  and  white  and  red,  flung 
over  every  lattice  and  trellis  and  arbor. 

Eunice,  standing  in  their  midst  on  this  sweet  June 
evening,  a  white  rose  herself  in  her  flowing  gown  of 
white,  murmured  softly  : 

"  If  on  earth  be  an  Eden  of  bliss, 
It  is  this — it  is  this  ! " 

She  was  alone ;  the  others  had  either  gone  or  were 
going  to  the  evening's  exercises,  but  Eunice  was  not 
going.  A  letter  from  Mr.  Rogers  a  few  weeks  before 
had  said  that  he  hoped  to  get  a  two  days'  leave  of 
absence  and  spend  Wednesday  and  Thursday  of 
Commencement  in  Bellaire  and  take  his  diploma  with 
his  class  as  Dr.  Charlton  had  promised  he  should.  But 
this  sudden  invasion  of  Lee's  had  spoiled  all  that: 
there  was  no  getting  away  from  the  army  now  for  even 
a  day,  and  a  line  from  him  the  day  before  had  told  her 
how  deeply  he  felt  this  disappointment. 

It  had  been  a  long,  sad  winter  and  spring  for  her. 
The  terrible  battles  of  Fredericksburg  and  Chancel- 
lorsville  had  filled  her  soul  with  horror  and  her  heart 
with  an  anguished  dread.  How  could  she  hope  that 
Rex  had  escaped  where  thousands  had  fallen ! 

But  sad  as  it  had  all  been,  the  sorrow  in  her  heart 
at  this  moment  was  that  it  would  so  soon  be  ended. 
In  two  days  Commencement  would  be  over,  and  then 
she  would  leave  Bellaire,  perhaps  never  to  return. 
Times  had  grown  harder  still  with  the  old  college, 


FLIGHT  FROM  THE  OLD  TOWN  269 

and  it  had  been  decided  that  Lucy  should  undertake 
the  education  of  the  younger  children,  and  Eunice 
had  found  a  position  near  her  own  home.  Lucy  had 
grown  to  seem  to  her  as  a  dear  sister,  and  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Charlton  had  treated  her  as  a  loved  daughter; 
it  was  not  possible  to  sever  these  dear  ties  and  to  leave 
the  place  so  full  of  associations  with  Rex  without  the 
keenest  sorrow  and  regret. 

It  was  Wednesday  of  Commencement  Week.  There 
remained  but  the  alumni  exercises  of  this  evening 
and  the  graduating  exercises  of  the  next  day.  All 
through  the  week  there  had  been  persistent  rumors  of 
the  advance  of  Lee's  army  up  the  Valley;  but  Dr. 
Charlton,  true  to  his  Spartan  principles,  would  listen 
to  no  suggestions  of  dismissing  the  college  at  once 
without  waiting  for  the  Commencement  exercises. 

"No,"  he  said;  "we  will  go  on  doing  the  duty  that 
lies  nearest.  It  will  be  time  enough  to  run  when  the 
foe  is  in  sight." 

It  was  half -past  seven  of  this  glorious  June  evening. 
The  sun  had  not  yet  set,  and  Eunice  stood  among 
the  roses  watching  the  shadows  lengthen  on  the  grass. 
She  could  see,  through  the  gate  in  the  hedge,  the  long 
line  of  students  and  alumni  forming  in  a  procession, 
with  the  barracks  band  at  their  head.  Marshals,  with 
batons  tied  with  floating  white  ribbons,  were  hurry 
ing  back  and  forth,  driving  the  stragglers  into  line 
and  arranging  and  rearranging  the  order  of  the  pro 
cession.  Dr.  Charlton  and  a  group  of  distinguished 
visitors  with  him  were  standing  a  little  at  one  side, 
waiting  to  take  their  places  at  the  head  of  the  line. 


270  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Mrs.  Charlton  was  watching  it,  too,  from  the 
veranda  with  the  wives  of  the  distinguished  visitors 
who  had  come  on  with  their  husbands  to  attend  the 
festivities.  They  were  only  waiting  for  the  procession 
to  get  well  started  when  they  would  follow  on  down 
to  the  Commencement  hall.  Baby  Ned  was  in  bed, 
but  Millie  and  the  two  younger  boys  were  to  stay  up 
to  see  the  procession  start,  and  they  were  hovering 
between  the  veranda  and  the  gate  in  the  hedge,  in 
eager  expectancy  at  every  blare  of  the  trumpets  as, 
one  after  another,  the  members  of  the  band  tried  their 
instruments.  Lucy,  with  two  or  three  girl  guests  up 
for  Commencement  Week  from  Baltimore,  had  gone 
on  before  with  Henry  Sydney,  who,  almost  eighteen 
now,  had  developed  a  liking  for  his  sister 's  girl-friends 
and  felt  himself  quite  old  enough  to  act  as  their  es 
cort.  George  Edgar,  who  scorned  girls,  was  with 
Charles  Cook,  junior,  hanging  around  the  procession, 
fondly  hoping  to  be  permitted  to  come  in  at  the  tail- 
end  and  march  to  those  soul-stirring  strains  of  mar 
tial  music.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Charlton  called  to  Eunice : 
"Eunice,  come  here,  please — quick!"  and  as  Eunice 
ran  lightly  up  the  veranda  steps  to  her  side,  she  ex 
claimed  excitedly : 

' '  See !  What  do  you  suppose  is  happening  ? ' ' 
Eunice  looked,  but  could  not  understand.  A  sol 
dier  from  the  barracks  had  just  ridden  into  the  cam 
pus  and  delivered  a  note  to  Dr.  Charlton.  The  doc 
tor  had  glanced  at  it  hastily,  and  then  stepping 
quickly  in  front  of  the  line,  had  silenced  the  prelim 
inary  strains  of  the  band  with  uplifted  hand,  and 


FLIGHT   FROM  THE  OLD   TOWN  271 

was  evidently  speaking  to  the  procession.  His  reso 
nant  tones  could  be  heard  from  where  they  sat,  but 
not  his  words.  It  was  a  time  when  the  slightest  in 
cident  out  of  the  ordinary  was  alarming,  and  a  mes 
sage  from  the  barracks  was  very  much  out  of  the 
ordinary.  Eunice  and  Mrs.  Charlton  and  the  little 
company  of  guests  sat  with  strained  and  painful  at 
tention,  as  if  they  were  listening  to  the  doctor's 
words. 

But  if  they  could  not  hear  his  words,  they  could 
see.  the  startling  effect  they  produced.  The  band 
marched  off  alone  at  double-quick  down  the  Iron  Gate 
path,  the  procession  dissolved  as  if  by  magic,  the 
black  figures  of  the  students  and  visitors  flying  in 
every  direction  and  calling  to  each  other  all  sorts  of 
hoarse  and  unintelligible  directions.  The  doctor  and 
his  group  of  dignified  guests  were  hurrying  in  long 
strides  toward  Mrs.  Charlton 's  veranda,  but  George 
Edgar  and  Charles  Cook,  junior,  were  flying  far  be 
fore  them. 

''The  rebels,  mother;  the  rebels!"  shouted  George 
Edgar  as  soon  as  he  came  within  ear-shot  of  Mrs. 
Charlton;  and  "Der  rebels,  mammy;  der  rebels  is 
comin'!"  echoed  Charles  Cook,  junior,  flying  to  Al- 
cinda,  who  had  come  out  on  the  lawn  at  the  sounds 
of  excitement. 

Mrs.  Charlton  turned  pale,  and  her  guests  started 
up  in  dismay,  ready  to  flee  at  once.  Eunice's  heart 
stood  still.  There  had  been  many  false  alarms ;  could 
it  be  possible  they  were  coming  at  last,  and  would  Rex 
be  with  them!  She  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  fear 


272  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

or  hope  that  made  her  heart  stand  still  and  then 
pound  so  violently.  But  there  was  no  question  with 
the  others.  Millie  and  the  little  boys  were  clinging 
close  to  their  mother  in  terrified  silence,  while  the 
visitors  were  uttering  shrill  and  excited  exclamations. 
Mrs.  Charlton  was  trying  to  assure  them  that  there 
could  be  no  immediate  danger,  and  that  Dr.  Charlton 
and  their  husbands  would  be  there  in  a  moment  to 
tell  them  the  truth  of  the  matter. 

The  doctor  had  only  lingered  to  despatch  a  messen 
ger  to  the  hall  to  announce  to  the  waiting  audience 
that  there  would  be  no  exercises,  and  he  was  not  far 
behind  George  Edgar. 

"Well,  my  love,"  he  said,  as  he  mounted  the  steps 
with  his  long  stride," Major  Barton  sends  me  word 
that  a  special  train  will  leave  at  eleven  o'clock  to 
carry  away  the  officers  and  soldiers  from  the  barracks. 
He  offers  to  take  any  of  our  students  who  wish  to 
go,  and  our  visitors  and  ourselves.  It  will  be  the 
last  train  out  of  Bellaire;  Lee's  army  is  only  twenty 
miles  away." 

They  had  listened  breathlessly  to  him  so  far,  but 
at  his  last  words  the  women  broke  out  once  more  into 
excited  cries,  begging  him  to  tell  them  if  they  could 
surely  get  away,  and  could  they  take  their  trunks? 
Yes;  in  that  one  moment  in  which  he  had  lingered 
he  seemed  to  have  arranged  for  everything.  "Judge" 
would  be  over  with  his  wheel-barrow  as  soon  as  he 
returned  from  his  message  to  the  waiting  audience. 
It  was  not  eight  o  'clock,  and  the  train  would  not  leave 
until  eleven,  but  they  had  better  get  their  trunks 


FLIGHT  FROM  THE  OLD  TOWN  273 

packed  as  quickly  as  possible,  for  in  the  rush  to  get 
away  on  the  only  train  there  would,  no  doubt,  be  over 
crowding,  and  those  first  at  the  station  would  stand 
the  best  chance  of  getting  themselves  and  their  bag 
gage  aboard. 

Never  was  a  little  household  in  greater  panic. 
Lucy's  friends  must  be  brought  home  at  once,  since 
they  must  be  ready  to  leave  also  on  the  special  train, 
and  George  Edgar  was  sent  in  quest  of  them.  Each 
frantic  woman  seized  her  husband  and  hurried  him 
away  to  help  with  her  packing.  Mrs.  Charlton  started 
to  follow. 

' '  Come,  Robert, ' '  she  said  to  her  husband ;  and  then 
something  in  his  face  made  her  stop  and  question: 

"Are  we  not  to  go?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered;  "I  think  it  is  wise  for  you 
and  the  children.  You  can  go  to  Sister  Sarah's  in 
New  York,  and  stay  until  the  trouble  is  over. ' ' 

"But  you?"  she  asked,  bewildered. 

"I  cannot  leave,  Millicent,"  he  answered  gently. 
"I  must  stay  and  take  care  of  the  college  property." 

"Then  we  stay  with  you,"  she  responded  just  as 
gently,  but  with  a  firmness  that  the  doctor  knew  from 
the  start  it  was  useless  to  combat,  though  he  could  not 
resist  making  one  plea  for  the  children,  hoping 
thereby  to  move  her. 

"No,"  she  reiterated;  "our  place  is  with  you"; 
and  then  she  added  with  a  lightness  she  did  not  feel, 
"  I  do  not  believe  there  will  be  any  danger  in  staying ; 
and  the  boys,  at  least,  would  be  terribly  disappointed 
to  lose  their  chance  of  seeing  the  'rebels.'  " 


274  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

The  doctor's  radiant  smile,  grateful,  appreciative, 
comprehending,  more  than  repaid  her  if  she  was 
making  any  sacrifice.  He  had  been  honestly  anxious 
to  have  her  go  with  the  others  to  a  place  of  safety, 
but  when  he  found  it  was  impossible  to  persuade  her 
he  was  openly  joyous  at  this  new  proof  of  her  de 
votion. 

"Millicent,"  he  said,  with  his  adoring  look,  "you 
should  have  been  the  wife  of  a  hero!" 

"I  am,"  she  answered  softly;  and  then  they  both 
remembered  Eunice  with  a  start.  For  a  moment  they 
had  forgotten  her;  now  Mrs.  Charlton  said: 

"My  dear,  you  must  make  haste;  you  have  more 
packing  than  the  others,  and  you  will  not  be  ready. 
But  do  not  try  to  do  it  all.  Just  pack  one  trunk  with 
the  things  you  need  most,  and  we  will  send  you  the 
rest  later." 

' '  I  am  not  going, ' '  said  Eunice,  mildly. 

"Not  going!"  ejaculated  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton  in 
a  breath;  and  Mrs.  Charlton  added,  "But,  my  dear, 
you  must !  Think  of  your  family,  how  terrified  they 
will  be  about  you!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor;  "I  think  you  will  have 
to  go,  my  dear  Miss  Eunice.  I  am  responsible  to 
your  father  for  your  safety,  and  he  would  have 
a  right  to  call  me  to  account  if  I  permitted  you  to 
stay." 

Eunice  listened  to  them  both  with  that  little  tilt 
of  her  chin  that  made  the  doctor's  heart  fail  within 
him.  He  had  learned  to  know  that  that  almost  im 
perceptible  tilt  denoted,  if  not  obstinacy,  at  least  a 


FLIGHT  FROM  THE  OLD  TOWN  275 

firmness  that  was  adamant.  Eunice  was  still  silent, 
and  he  ventured  once  more : 

"You  know,  do  you  not,  that  nothing  could  be 
sweeter  to  us  than  to  have  you  share  with  us  the 
dangers  of  the  next  few  weeks  as  you  have  shared 
the  privations  of  the  last  year.  But  your  first  duty 
is  to  your  father  and  your  family,  and  I  think  you 
must  go,  my  child." 

At  his  last  words  Eunice  turned  to  him  quickly  and 
passionately,  and  with  an  abandon  in  voice  and  ges 
ture  they  had  never  seen  before. 

"Oh,  let  me  stay  with  you,  dear  Dr.  Charlton— 
dear,  dear  Mrs.  Charlton!"  she  cried;  "I  cannot  go 
away  and  leave  you.  I  will  write  to  them  and  send 
by  the  train  leaving  to-night,  so  they  will  know  why 
I  stay,  and  know  that  you  are  not  at  all  responsible. ' ' 
And  then  she  added,  with  the  little  twinkle  of  humor 
in  her  eye  that  was  always  irresistible  to  the  doctor: 

' '  I  will  tell  my  father  that  I  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  to  miss  this  opportunity  of  seeing  something 
of  the  war.  That  will  appeal  to  him,  and  he  will  be 
envying  me  instead  of  mourning  for  me." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  her,  and  while  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Charlton  were  genuinely  concerned  lest  they  were 
being  very  unwise  in  allowing  her  to  remain,  they 
recognized  their  helplessness  and  rejoiced  that  they 
might  with  a  good  conscience  permit  themselves  to  be 
glad  that  she  was  not  to  leave  them  for  a  while. 

That  was  a  night  long  to  be  remembered  in  the  old 
town.  Pandemonium  had  broken  loose  in  the  college ; 
the  deafening  clatter  of  pounding  and  hammering, 


276  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

dragging  heavy  boxes  and  trunks  about,  bumping 
them  down  uncarpeted  stairs,  excited  and  loud  de 
mands  for  hammers  and  nails,  vain  calling  on  all 
the  janitors  by  name,  mingled  with  much  good- 
natured  joking  and  even  an  occasional  snatch  of 
song. 

By  ten  o'clock  most  of  the  packing  seemed  to  be 
finished,  and  the  long  line  of  wheel-barrows,  piled  high 
with  trunks  and  boxes,  had  started  for  the  train.  At 
the  president's  house  "Judge"  and  Charles  Cook, 
junior,  had,  between  them,  wheeled  to  the  train  the 
dozen  trunks  that  were  leaving  that  evening.  It  was 
a  grand  frolic  to  the  young  people ;  the  hurried  pack 
ing  of  the  girls,  the  young  men  eager  with  proffers 
of  service,  locking  trunks  that  refused  to  go  shut  and 
then  carrying  them  down-stairs  with  jest  and  laugh 
ter  and  much  bandying  of  youthful  wit.  They  were 
all  going  off  together  on  the  special  train— well  chap 
eroned,  to  be  sure;  but  the  midnight  ride  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  grand  lark,  and  they  were  loud  in  their 
regrets  that  Lucy  was  not  to  go  with  them. 

To  the  confusion  and  bustle  of  getting  ready  there 
succeeded  an  hour  of  comparative  quiet  when  work 
was  over  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait,— an 
hour  of  feverish  impatience  to  the  older  people,  to 
whose  exaggerated  fears  every  sound  was  the  tramp 
of  the  vanguard  of  the  invading  army.  But  to  many 
young  hearts  in  the  old  town  that  last  hour  was  a 
sad  one.  All  over  the  town,  officers  and  students  were 
making  their  farewell  calls  on  those  to  whom  it  was 
hardest  to  say  farewell.  In  many  an  old  garden 


FLIGHT  FROM  THE  OLD  TOWN  277 

where  the  moon  threw  deepest  shadows  under  spread 
ing  trees,  or  on  shady,  quiet  streets,  or  in  secluded 
nooks  of  the  beautiful  campus,  remote  from  the  noise 
and  confusion,  ardent  vows  were  whispered  and  tears 
dimmed  bright  eyes,  and  hand  sought  hand  in  last 
and  tenderest  clasp. 

Promptly  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  long  train,  reaching 
almost  to  the  campus  gates,  pulled  up  in  front  of  the 
Mansion  House ;  but  so  great  were  the  piles  of  trunks 
and  boxes  to  be  loaded  on  the  three  baggage-cars  that 
it  was  midnight  before  the  last  good-bys  were  said 
and  the  train  steamed  slowly  down  ''Main  Street," 
every  platform  crowded  with  young  men  frantically 
waving  hats  and  handkerchiefs,  each  one  with  his 
last,  lingering  look  fixed  on  some  girlish  figure  stand 
ing  lonely  under  the  flaring  gas-jets  of  the  station 
and  tearfully  waving  a  farewell  for  him  alone. 

A  great  sense  of  loneliness  and  dreariness  fell  on 
the  doctor's  little  party  as  they  turned  their  faces 
homeward  through  the  moonlight  and  the  shadows. 
They  were  all  there  but  Eunice  and  Baby  Ned.  Baby 
Ned  was  asleep,  and  Eunice  had  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  stay  with  him  while  the  others  accompanied  their 
guests  to  the  train.  The  children  were  so  wildly  ex 
cited  that  to  have  tried  to  force  them  to  bed  would 
have  seemed  cruelty,  and  now  Millie  voiced  the  general 
sadness  by  breaking  into  irrepressible  sobs. 

"Why,  what  is  it,  darling?"  asked  her  mother,  al 
most  inclined  to  be  amused,  and  yet  a  little  touched 
that  the  child  should  have  taken  these  partings  so 
seriously. 


278  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  to  have  Alcinda  and  Cindie  and 
Charles  Cook,  junior,  go  away,"  sobbed  the  child. 

"But  they  are  coming  back,"  said  Mrs.  Charlton, 
soothingly.  "Father  thought  it  was  not  quite  safe  for 
them  here,— they  're  'contraband,'  you  know,— and 
so  they  are  going  to  stay  at  Aunt  Sarah's  until  these 
troubles  are  over— and  we  don't  think  that  will  be 
very  long." 

But  though  Millie  tried  to  stifle  her  sobs,  she  still 
wept  on  silently,  for  she  knew  they  would  never  come 
back.  In  the  shadow  of  a  great  pile  of  trunks  at  the 
station,  Alcinda  had  taken  her  in  her  arms  and  said 
in  her  mournful  negro  tones : 

"God  bress  yer  sweet  face,  honey!  I  dunno  's  I  '11 
ever  see  it  ag'in.  Don'  tell  yer  mother,  chile;  but 
I  think  ole  Alcindy  '11  stay  Norf  when  she  gits  there. 
I  'm  shore  'nuff  tired  o'  runnin'  away  from  the 
'fed 'rates.  This  is  the  third  time  now,  and  three 
times  is  out.  Good-by,  honey,  an'  don'  you  forget 
ole  Alcindy." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM 

AFTER  the  panic  and  excitement  of  "Wednesday 
.XJL  night,  the  old  town  settled  itself  down  to  two 
days  of  dreary  waiting,  with  not  even  the  passing  of 
trains  to  relieve  the  monotony,  since,  as  Major  Bar 
ton  had  said,  that  midnight  special  was  the  last  train 
out  of  Bellaire.  Nothing  more  stirring  happened 
than  the  passing  of  the  almost  continuous  droves  of 
horses  and  cattle  driven  northward  along  the  Henrys- 
burg  turnpike,  which  led  directly  through  Main 
Street.  The  farmers  all  reported  Lee's  army  close 
behind  them,  but  they  were  in  such  a  state  of  panic 
that  their  reports  could  hardly  be  considered  trust 
worthy,  and  Dr.  Charlton  began  to  hope  that  they 
might  escape,  after  all.  Twice  before  had  Lee  threat 
ened  them,  but  both  times  his  army  had  been  driven 
back  before  it  reached  Bellaire;  perhaps  they  would 
escape  again,  and  the  older  members  of  the  family 
began  to  settle  down  to  the  routine  of  daily  living 
with  a  greater  feeling  of  security. 

It  was  a  routine  varied  by  some  hard  and  unusual 
labor,  for,  with  Alcinda  and  her  family  gone,  they 
had  to  take  upon  themselves  the  unaccustomed  duties 

i»  279 


280  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

of  cooking  and  dish- washing.  It  might  have  proved 
drudgery  but  that  they  were  all  making  a  grand  frolic 
of  it,  and  Mrs.  Charlton  had  so  skilfully  allotted, 
even  to  the  youngest  child,  some  special  department, 
that  many  hands  were  making  light  work. 

Late  Friday  afternoon,  the  monotony  of  waiting 
was  broken  by  a  new  ripple  of  excitement.  A  com 
pany  of  Buford's  cavalry,  which  was  to  the  Northern 
army  what  Stuart's  was  to  the  Southern,  dashed  into 
the  west  end  of  town,  and  seeing  the  inviting  green 
of  the  campus,  wheeled  their  horses  on  to  the  soft 
turf  and  picketed  them  for  a  little  rest  and  feeding 
and  watering. 

They  brought  exciting  news.  Yes,  there  was  no 
doubt  of  it:  Lee's  whole  army  was  just  behind  them. 
This  was  no  raid  for  securing  horses  and  provisions, 
but  an  invasion  for  conquest.  One  old  trooper  who 
was  busily  telling  marvelous  tales  of  the  ferocity  of 
the  "rebs"  to  Henry  Sidney  and  George  Edgar, 
while  he  curried  and  fed  his  horse,  noting  their 
wide-eyed  horror,  wound  up  by  saying: 

"Yes,  sirs,  by  to-morrow  at  this  time  you   '11  be 
citizens  of  the  Southern  Confederacy.    You  '11  be  no 
better  than  Johnny  Rebs  yourselves." 
.    "Never!"  the  two  young  patriots  declared  in  con 
cert,  and  George  Edgar  added: 

"I  '11  run  away  and  join  Buford's  cavalry  first." 

The  trooper  laughed,  and  might  have  gone  on  with 
his  teasing  speeches  but  that  the  bugle  sounded, 
"Boots  and  saddles!"  and,  so  quickly  that  it  made 
George  Edgar  wink,  the  soldier  had  his  saddle  once 


DR.  CHAELTON'S  STRATAGEM      281 

more  on  his  horse,  and  himself  on  its  back.  As  he 
wheeled  into  line  with  the  others,  he  waved  his  hand 
to  the  boys  and  called: 

"Good-by,  Johnny!  If  you  see  any  of  the  rebs, 
tell  'em  we  've  gone  to  Henrysburg. ' ' 

The  indignity  of  being  called  "Johnny"  was 
greatly  softened  to  George  Edgar  by  the  importance 
of  this  commission. 

"Do  you  s'pose  he  re'ly  wants  us  to?"  he  asked 
Henry  Sidney,  eagerly. 

"Naw!"  replied  Henry  Sidney,  laconically,  with 
his  air  of  superior  wisdom  that  always  greatly  net 
tled  his  younger  brother.  "Of  course  not!  he  's  prob 
ably  going  just  the  other  way." 

"Then,"  said  George  Edgar,  with  decision,  "I  shall 
do  exactly  as  he  said :  I  shall  tell  the  rebs  they  're  gone 
to  Henrysburg,  and  that  will  throw  them  off  the 
track." 

It  was  Henry  Sidney's  turn  to  look  crestfallen, 
for  he  could  not  but  recognize  the  good  sense  in  his 
brother's  plan,  and  to  have  been  so  stupid  as  not  to 
have  thought  of  it  himself  was  really  quite  mortify 
ing. 

Buford's  cavalry  had  not  allowed  themselves  more 
than  half  an  hour  for  rest,  and  their  evident  haste 
and  their  exciting  news— for  up  to  this  time  no  one 
had  felt  quite  sure  that  it  was  to  be  anything  more 
than  a  raid — threw  the  town  into  consternation  again. 

Sitting  on  the  veranda  with  his  family  about  him 
after  supper,  the  doctor  tried  to  lead  the  talk  into 
less  exciting  channels;  for  fear  was  working  on  the 


282  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

imaginations  of  the  younger  members  of  the  family 
until  going  to  bed  in  the  dark  was  not  to  be  thought 
of.  Long  beyond  their  usual  bed-hour  they  were  al 
lowed  to  sit  out  on  the  cool  veranda  under  a  fretwork 
of  shadows  where  the  moonlight  found  its  way  be 
tween  the  leaves  of  the  great  linden. 

Never  had  the  doctor  exerted  himself  more  to  be 
entertaining.  He  told  his  best  stories,  and  his  little 
audience  laughed  appreciatively  and  then  veered  back 
immediately  to  the  one  great  topic.  Try  as  he  might, 
he  could  not  keep  them  away  from  it;  and  try  as  he 
might,  he  could  not  keep  his  own  heart  from  feeling  a 
haunting  dread  of  what  the  morrow  was  to  bring 
forth :  a  dread  as  much  greater  than  the  dread  of  the 
others  as  his  knowledge  of  the  wickedness  of  the  world 
was  wider. 

Saturday  morning  brought  a  new  excitement: 
Charles  Ernest  and  Theodore  Howard  had  disap 
peared!  The  "Big  Boys"  and  Millie  searched  in 
every  one  of  their  known  haunts,  but  could  find  no 
trace  of  them.  The  only  clew,  and  that  did  not  throw 
much  light  on  the  disappearance,  was  some  broken 
pieces  of  bread  and  butter  on  the  kitchen  table— evi 
dently  the  remains  of  an  early  breakfast.  They  had 
often  taken  an  early  breakfast  when  they  were  go 
ing  off  on  a  fishing-trip  or  some  other  expedition 
of  importance,  but  never  without  their  mother's  per 
mission.  Dr.  Charlton  began  to  grow  exceedingly 
anxious.  If  they  had  gone  on  a  fishing  expedition 
now,  it  was  more  than  likely  they  would  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  Confederates;  he  was  for  instituting 


DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM  283 

a  searching  party  at  once.  But  Mrs.  Charlton  was 
more  philosophical. 

"No,"  she  said,  "we  '11  not  worry  for  a  while. 
They  're  smart  little  fellows,  and  I  'm  quite  sure 
they  '11  turn  up  all  right."  And  whatever  anxieties 
disturbed  her  motherly  heart,  she  had  her  family  sit 
down  quietly,  and  as  usual,  to  their  breakfast. 

And  her  confidence  was  not  misplaced.  In  the 
middle  of  the  meal  in  walked  the  two  little  fellows, 
dusty,  tired,  and  hungry,  but  quite  unabashed  at  the 
fusillade  of  excited  greetings  and  reprimands  that 
met  them  at  the  threshold. 

"Me  'n'  Charlie  's  been  'k 'noitering ! "  announced 
Theodore  Howard,  proudly. 

Military  terms  were  pathetically  at  home  on  his 
baby  lips,  his  mother  thought  wistfully ;  and  if  he 
was  not  quite  equal  to  the  pronunciation,  he  under 
stood  their  meaning  perfectly.  Eight-year-old  Charlie 
corroborated  his  younger  brother  gravely. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  said;  "we  've  been  to  Meeting 
House  Springs  and  we  've  seen  the  rebels." 

Meeting  House  Springs  was  two  miles  in  the  coun 
try;  that  meant  a  four-mile  tramp  for  the  little  fel 
lows  before  breakfast,  and  that  fact  was  the  one  over 
which  Mrs.  Charlton  felt  the  most  concern  as  she  ex 
claimed  in  dismay,  "Meeting  House  Springs!"  But 
it  made  no  impression  on  the  others  at  the  table,  it 
was  so  overshadowed  by  the  astounding  intelligence 
the  little  fellows  had  brought. 

"Seen  the  rebels!"  the  family  chorused. 

Charlie  nodded  gravely  and  Theodore  eagerly.    No 


284  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

one  believed  them,  it  seemed  so  improbable  that  two 
babies  should  announce  the  long-looked-for  approach. 

"Yes,  'm,"  insisted  Charles  Ernest,  firmly;  "and 
they  're  most  here.  Doric  and  I  want  some  more 
Breakfast,  and  then  we  're  going  down  to  the  corner 
to  see  them  come  in." 

Their  faith  in  their  own  tidings  was  contagious. 
The  two  Boys  were  hurried  through  their  breakfast 
by  their  eager  brothers  and  sisters,  and  then  sent  to 
keep  watch  at  the  Iron  Gate  corner  while  the  older 
members  of  the  family  despatched  the  morning 's  work. 
And  before  they  were  through  with  it,  Charles  Ernest 
came  flying  back. 

' '  They  're  coming !  they  're  coming ! "  he  shouted, 
and  without  waiting  to  see  how  his  tidings  were  re 
ceived,  tore  back  again  to  his  post  of  observation. 

Millie  was  drying  her  last  tea-cup,  Henry  Sidney 
was  not  quite  through  bringing  in  kindling  and  coal, 
and  George  Edgar  was  in  the  midst  of  sweeping  the 
veranda  and  steps;  but  tea-towel,  coal-scuttle,  and 
broom  were  all  discarded  with  equal  haste,  and  lay 
where  they  fell,  as  the  three  flew  down  the  long  pave 
ment  toward  the  Iron  Gate,  Millie  well  in  the  lead. 

"I  think  we  ought  to  go,  too,  Robert,  to  look  after 
the  children,"  said  Mrs.  Charlton,  questioningly. 

But  there  was  something  besides  her  mother's  anx 
iety  in  her  eyes,  and  her  husband  remembered  that 
there  might  easily  be  a  cousin  or  a  childhood's  friend 
among  the  invading  foe. 

"Come,"  he  said  with  ready  sympathy;  "put  on 
your  bonnet  and  we  '11  go  down  to  the  Iron  Gate; 


DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM      285 

I  '11  watch  the  children,  and  you  can  watch  the  sol 
diers." 

Eunice  and  Lucy,  finding  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charl- 
ton  were  going,  would  not  be  left  behind.  Eunice 
had  been  longing  and  dreading  to  go,  but  had  not 
dared  give  expression  to  her  desire ;  Lucy  was  frankly 
afraid  and  frankly  eager  to  see  the  Southern  soldiers, 
and  proposed  that  they  two  should  take  with  them 
four-year-old  Ned,  who  was  at  the  wilful  age  when  he 
needed  two  guardians  for  perfect  security,  and  whose 
baby  beauty,  Lucy  was  quite  sure,  would  touch  the 
most  ferocious  soldier's  heart,  should  he  be  inclined 
to  use  sword  or  gun. 

Lucy  had  a  very  vague  but  also  a  very  fearful 
idea  as  to  how  this  army  was  going  to  make  its  entry. 
She  had  read  much  of  the  blood-curdling  rebel  yell, 
and  she  fancied  there  would  be  charging  through  the 
streets,  hideous  yells,  sabers  drawn,  perhaps  recklessly 
fired  carbines.  She  felt  that  she  and  Eunice  were 
taking  their  lives  in  their  hands,  going  down  to  the 
Iron  Gate  corner;  but  since  her  father  and  mother 
and  brothers  were  all  there,  if  they  were  to  die  she 
wanted  to  die  with  them.  Eunice  had  no  such  fears. 
To  her  the  Southern  army  was  an  army  of  Rexes, 
and  she  could  not  associate  with  them  anything  but 
the  most  chivalrous  treatment  of  women  and  children. 

But  neither  of  them  was  quite  prepared  for  what 
they  actually  saw.  The  curb  was  lined  with  men, 
women,  and  children,  all  silently  watching  a  slowly 
approaching  column  of  soldiers.  Neighbor  elbowed 
neighbor,  and  friend  elbowed  friend,  but  not  a  word 


286  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

was  spoken.  All  were  listening  to  the  ominous  sound 
of  the  heavy  blows  of  axes  on  telegraph  poles  and  the 
dull  boom  of  the  poles  as  they  fell  to  the  earth. 
Slowly  the  column  approached,  a  double  line  of  cav 
alry  guarding  a  corps  of  miners  and  sappers  who 
were  tearing  up  the  railroad  and  cutting  down  the 
telegraph  poles.  Dr.  Charlton,  watching  them,  felt 
with  a  great  sinking  of  the  heart,  as  he  saw  all  com 
munication  with  the  North  by  either  wire  or  train 
effectually  cut  off,  that  they  were  indeed  captives 
at  the  mercy  of  a  foe  whom  the  Northern  papers  had 
constantly  represented  as  fierce  and  unscrupulous. 
And  what  most  startled  and  alarmed  him  was  the 
ominous  silence  with  which  this  work  of  destruction 
was  accomplished.  In  all  that  mass  of  men,  filling 
the  wide  street  from  curb  to  curb,  not  a  word  was 
spoken.  Apparently  not  even  an  order  was  given, 
the  cavalry  riding  slowly  with  grimly  set  faces  and 
eyes  keenly  alert  for  any  lurking  foe;  the  men  with 
the  axes  intent  only  on  delivering  sturdy  and  telling 
blows.  Dr.  Charlton  watched  them  a  long  time,  and 
then  he  turned  to  his  wife  and  whispered : 

"These  men  feel  that  they  are  riding  into  a  trap — 
look  at  their  faces ! ' '  She  only  nodded  in  reply,  but 
there  was  in  her  eyes  more  pity  than  elation  for  the 
men  whom  she,  too,  feared  were  marching  to  their 
doom. 

Only  once  was  that  ominous  silence  of  soldiers  and 
citizens  broken.  Charles  Ernest,  standing  at  the  very 
edge  of  the  curb  and  wearing  a  straw  hat  so  wide 
as  almost  to  hide  his  little  figure,  was  indignant  at 


DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM      287 

the  destruction  of  the  telegraph  poles.  When  the 
men  began  on  the  one  by  which  he  was  standing,  it 
was  more  than  he  could  endure. 

"Stop  that!"  he  cried  in  his  shrill  voice.  "Stop, 
I  tell  you ! ' '  and  then  looking  up  into  the  face  of  the 
cavalryman  riding  by  the  sapper's  side,  he  demanded 
fearlessly : 

"Mister,  tell  that  man  to  stop  cutting  down  our 
poles!" 

Involuntarily  the  cavalryman  checked  his  horse, 
and  in  so  doing  stopped  the  advance  of  the  whole 
Southern  army;  for  this  was  Jenkins's  cavalry,  and 
it  was  General  Jenkins  himself  that  Charles  Ernest 
had  so  fearlessly  addressed. 

The  commander  looked  down  wonderingly  at  the 
little  wisp  of  humanity,  hardly  visible  under  his  wide 
hat,  that  had  held  at  bay  an  invading  army.  And 
then  he  laughed. 

"Hat,  what  are  you  doing  with  that  boy?"  he  said, 
and  added  good-naturedly: 

"Sonny,  come  out  from  under  that  hat  and  let  's 
have  a  look  at  you. ' ' 

It  relieved  the  tension  for  a  moment.  There  was 
a  roar  of  laughter  from  his  own  men,  and  an  answer 
ing  shout  from  the  citizens  on  the  curb.  Conquerors 
and  conquered  were  on  better  terms  with  each  other 
for  the  time,  and  the  vanguard  of  the  Confederate 
army  went  forward  with  a  little  lightening  of  that 
dread  that  they  were  marching  into  a  trap  prepared 
for  them  in  the  heart  of  the  enemy 's  country. 

As  for  Charles  Ernest,  he  was  greatly  abashed  by 


288  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

the  laugh,  which  sounded  to  him  like  ridicule,  and 
he  shrank  back  to  his  father's  side  and  took  hold  of 
his  father's  reassuring  hand.  Dr.  Charlton  felt  half 
of  his  fears  removed,  and  Lucy 's  were  gone  altogether. 
Both  father  and  daughter  felt  there  was  little  to  dread 
from  a  bold  commander  who  spoke  so  kindly  to  a  cour 
ageous  child,  and  from  his  men  who  laughed  with  him 
so  good-naturedly. 

What  Eunice  was  feeling  while  she  listened  to  the 
dull  ring  of  the  axes  and  the  soft  pad  of  horses' 
hoofs  on  the  unpaved  street,  it  would  have  been  diffi 
cult  for  her  to  tell.  Her  first  conscious  impression 
was  one  of  keen  disappointment.  She  had  seen  many 
soldiers  during  the  war,  all  wearing  the  trim  blue  and 
gold  of  the  Union  troops.  Buford's  cavalry  had  had 
all  the  dash  and  glitter  one  naturally  expects  in 
cavalry,  but  these  men  were  ragged  and  rough-look 
ing,  grimy  with  the  dust  of  the  road,  unshaven  and 
unshorn,  with  no  pretense  of  being  in  uniform.  Bat 
tered  old  hats,  and  coats  of  every  cut  and  color  and 
texture,  made  them  a  motley-looking  crew.  She  had 
been  picturing  to  herself  Rex  in  a  dapper  suit  of  gray 
with  much  gold  lace,  and  a  fine  military  hat  with  per 
haps  a  drooping  plume  like  some  old  Vandyke  cavalier. 
Could  it  be  possible  he  looked  like  these  men?  She 
refused  to  believe  it  of  the  exquisite  Rex. 

And  then,  as  she  looked  longer,  something  in  the 
grimly  set  faces  and  the  stern  and  dauntless  eyes 
stirred  her  strangely.  These  men  had  known  great 
suffering  and  great  privations;  their  faces  told  the 
tale.  And  they  were  brave  and  devoted  beyond  her 


DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM      289 

dreams  of  men ;  their  whole  bearing  proved  that.  Had 
Rex,  for  whose  vanity  and  moral  weakness  and  lux 
urious  habits  she  had  sometimes  felt  scorn,  become 
like  these  men?  Her  heart  glowed  within  her  at  the 
thought.  Rebel  or  loyal,  how  could  she  not  admire 
and  honor  and  love  a  man  like  one  of  these ! 

All  day  long  that  great  army  of  invasion  poured 
silently  through  the  streets  of  Bellaire.  There  had 
been  an  interim  of  nearly  an  hour,  after  the  van 
guard  had  passed  on,  before  the  infantry  began  to 
arrive;  but  from  that  time  until  almost  six  o'clock 
they  marched  steadily  down  Main  Street  in  solid 
phalanx,  hundreds  of  them,  thousands  of  them;  com 
pany  after  company,  regiment  after  regiment,  bri 
gade  after  brigade,  division  after  division — the 
whole  of  Ewell's  corps. 

It  was  almost  six  o'clock  when  the  last  brigade  of 
Rode's  division  was  ordered  to  break  ranks  at  the 
campus  gates.  With  a  yell  that  was  one  of  joy,  not 
defiance,  the  weary,  way-worn  fellows  rushed  through 
gates  and  stiles  and  threw  themselves  at  full  length  on 
the  cool,  soft  turf.  Many  of  them  were  hatless,  very 
many  of  them  shoeless  and  limping,  though  occa 
sionally  a  barefooted  fellow  carried,  slung  over  his 
arm,  a  pair  of  brand-new  shoes,  looted  from  some  vil 
lage  store,  but  too  new  to  be  ventured  on  for  a  long 
day's  march.  Almost  every  man  also  carried  under 
his  arm  some  dainty  taken  from  the  farm-wives  along 
the  road  and  intended  for  his  evening  meal:  a  jar 
of  apple-butter,  loaves  of  freshly  baked  bread,  buckets 
filled  with  pats  of  fresh  butter  or  with  newly  laid 


290  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

eggs,  a  country-cured  ham,  or  a  brace  of  squawking 
chickens.  Death  might  lie  lurking  in  their  pathway, 
but  they  had  the  immediate  prospect  before  them  of 
one  delicious  and  sufficient  meal,  and  that  was  no  mean 
prospect  to  men  coming  up  to  this  land  of  abundance, 
half  starved,  from  the  waste  and  war-devastated  fields 
of  Virginia. 

Half  an  hour  they  gave  themselves  for  absolute  rest 
at  length  on  the  grass,  and  then  arose  the  joyous  din 
of  preparations  for  supper  and  for  the  night.  Here 
and  there  a  tent  was  pitched  for  an  officer,  but  for  the 
rank  and  file  the  only  preparation  for  slumber  was 
to  wrap  themselves  in  a  blanket,  and  all  their  attention 
could  be  given  to  the  feast.  In  a  few  minutes  smoke 
was  rising  from  hundreds  of  camp-fires  and  the 
aroma  of  boiling  coffee  and  frying  ham  and  eggs  was 
filling  the  air. 

Close  beside  the  little  gate  in  the  hedge  that  led 
from  the  campus  into  the  president's  private  grounds 
were  pitched  the  tents  of  the  commander  of  the  bri 
gade  and  his  staff.  Young  Colonel  Morris  was  the 
acting  brigadier,  and  it  disturbed  him  greatly  that 
in  the  family  watching  eagerly  from  the  veranda  steps 
all  the  movements  of  this  army  encamped  on  their 
beloved  campus  should  be  two  young  and  beautiful 
ladies.  The  brave  officer  had  been  too  long  in  the  field 
not  to  feel  abashed  in  their  presence,  and  he  had  a 
plan  in  his  mind  that  required  his  facing  them  boldly. 

One  would  hardly  have  supposed  it  to  be  one  of  the 
boldest  officers  in  Rode's  division  who  presented  him 
self  modestly  at  the  foot  of  the  veranda  steps  and  called 


DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM      291 

Dr.  Charlton  aside  for  a  private  consultation.  But 
if  his  manner  was  modest,  his  demands  were  not ;  they 
were  that  supper  should  be  prepared  as  quickly  as 
possible  in  the  president's  house  for  himself  and  his 
staff,  nearly  a  dozen  men  in  all. 

The  doctor  tried  to  demur,  but  the  colonel's  man 
ner  quickly  convinced  him  that  there  could  be  no 
questioning  the  commands  of  a  conqueror,  and  un 
willingly  he  went  back  to  his  family  and  delivered  the 
unwelcome  message. 

Mrs.  Charlton  showed  her  dismay  in  a  quick  excla 
mation  : 

''Why,  Robert !  it  is  n't  possible !  How  can  we  cook 
for  a  dozen  men?  And  how  will  we  find  enough  for 
them  to  eat?  There  are  no  stores  open,  and  nothing 
in  them  if  there  were:  everything  has  been  carried 
off  to  Henrysburg.  I  laid  in  provisions  that  I  thought 
would  last  a  week,  but  if  we  give  them  to  these 
Southerners,  I  am  afraid  the  children  will  go  hun 
gry." 

Fiery  little  Lucy  blazed  with  indignation : 

' '  Cook  for  rebels  ?  Never !  Is  that  what  the  colonel 
wanted?  And  I  thought  him  so  good-looking  and  so 
gentlemanly ! ' ' 

But  there  was  no  help  for  it ;  the  colonel 's  commands 
must  be  obeyed,  and  it  was  Eunice  who  proved  herself 
a  tower  of  strength  in  this  emergency.  She  had  been 
well  trained  in  the  domestic  arts  in  her  thrifty  New 
England  home,  and  she  took  upon  herself  the  office 
of  cook.  Daintily  and  deftly  she  mixed  biscuit,  made 
coffee,  and  tossed  omelets,  while  rebellious  Lucy  and 


292  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

equally  indignant  Millie  and  the  boys  were  set  to  do 
the  waiting.  Eunice  and  Mrs.  Charlton  were  both 
taking  a  certain  pride  in  this  supper,  Eunice  feeling 
that  she  was  doing  it  for  Rex,  and  Mrs.  Charlton 
anxious  that  her  hospitality,  even  if  enforced,  should 
do  credit  to  her  Northern  home  in  the  eyes  of  her 
Southern  compatriots.  Her  table  was  as  carefully  set 
as  if  for  invited  guests;  she  did  not  spare  her  silver 
or  china  or  pickles,  and  Charles  Ernest  and  Theodore 
Howard  were  sent  to  gather  luscious  raspberries  from 
the  garden  to  be  served  with  a  light  cake  she  herself 
had  made  with  the  swiftness  of  execution  natural  to 
her.  The  doctor  was  amazed  when  he  saw  the  elabo 
rate  supper  she  had  prepared. 

"Why,  my  dear!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  have  you 
made  yourself  such  trouble ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Charlton  colored  a  little  and  laughed : 

"I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,  but  I  think  it  must  be 
because  I'm  so  proud." 

Not  in  many  months  had  the  rough  soldiers  that 
gathered  round  her  table  sat  down  to  such  a  meal, 
and  their  eyes  glistened  as  they  saw  the  snowy  linen 
and  shining  glass  and  silver.  There  was  a  moment 
of  awkward  silence  after  they  were  all  seated,  and 
then  the  colonel  turned  to  Dr.  Charlton,  standing  anx 
iously  near  the  door,  not  quite  certain  how  these  rough 
men  would  treat  his  young  daughters. 

"Doctor,"  said  the  colonel,  hesitatingly,  "will  you 
ask  the  blessing  for  us?" 

The  doctor  was  greatly  taken  by  surprise.  He  had 
heard  much  of  the  religious  spirit  in  the  Army  of 


DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM      293 

Northern  Virginia,  but  he  was  not  prepared  to  find 
it  extended  to  the  simple  duties  of  every  day.  And 
how  could  he  ask  a  blessing  on  the  food  to  be  taken  by 
his  enemies?  Would  not  the  prophets  of  old  rather 
have  called  down  curses? 

For  a  moment  he  was  nonplussed.  Then  clearly 
and  distinctly  to  his  spiritual  hearing  came  his  Mas 
ter's  command,  "Love  your  enemies."  He  lifted  his 
hand,  and  while  the  rough  heads  around  the  shin 
ing  table  were  reverently  bowed  he  prayed  that  the 
Lord  would  bless  the  food  of  which  they  were  about 
to  partake,  and  that  he  would  open  their  eyes  to  the 
sinfulness  of  their  present  course  and  bring  them  back 
to  loyalty  to  their  country  and  their  country's  flag. 

Colonel  Morris's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  lifted  his  head. 

" Don't  you  think,  doctor,"  he  said  genially,  "that 
you  were  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  us?  Were  n't 
you  rather  talking  at  us  instead  of  to  the  Lord?" 

The  doctor  had  to  own  to  the  impeachment,  and 
the  ice  was  broken.  To  the  amazement  of  Lucy  and 
the  younger  children,  the  doctor  was  soon  in  a  spirited 
but  thoroughly  good-humored  argument  with  the 
enemy.  Only  the  superior  officers  engaged  in  it;  the 
younger  ones  sat  silent,  absorbed  in  the  delicacies 
of  the  table  or  in  furtively  watching  Lucy's  golden 
curls  and  dainty,  scornful  airs;  for  Lucy  could  not 
quite  deny  herself  this  luxury — if  she  must  serve  her 
foes,  she  would  show  them  that  she  did  not  do  it 
willingly. 

Mrs.  Charlton  had  builded  better  than  she  knew. 
The  elegance  and  bounty  of  her  table  had  had  its 


294  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

effect,  and  if  the  officers  had  been  inclined  to  be  rude, 
they  could  not  have  had  the  presumption  in  the  face 
of  such  courteous  hospitality.  Its  most  immediate 
effect  was  the  colonel's  speech  as  he  rose  frqm  the 
table. 

"Dr.  Charlton,"  he  said,  "I  will  have  a  sentry 
stationed  in  your  grounds  immediately,  that  you  and 
your  family  may  feel  perfectly  secure  during  the 
night  and  as  long  as  we  stay.  It  is  General  Lee's 
most  explicit  command,"  he  added,  "that  families 
and  homes  shall  not  be  molested;  but  we  cannot  al 
ways  be  responsible  for  the  lawless  acts  of  prowlers 
and  stragglers,  and  so  I  will  see  that  you  are  properly 
protected.  You  may  dismiss  all  fears  for  yourselves 
and  your  property." 

It  was  said  with  such  an  air  of  high-bred  courtesy 
that  it  quite  won  the  impressionable  heart  of  Lucy, 
and  lifted  a  great  load  of  anxiety  from  Dr.  Charlton. 

True  to  his  word,  the  colonel  had  hardly  been  gone 
ten  minutes  before  a  boyish  sentinel,  in  home-made 
clothes  dyed  with  butternuts,  was  pacing  back  and 
forth  before  the  doctor's  door.  "Butternuts"  the 
children  dubbed  him  at  once,  and  it  was  not  long  be 
fore  they  had  made  great  friends  with  him.  He 
made  a  conquest  of  Millie  that  very  evening.  The 
children  had  worked  faithfully,  setting  the  table, 
waiting  on  it,  clearing  it  afterward,  and  getting  the 
dining-room  in  order;  and  now  Mrs.  Charlton,  want 
ing  them  to  have  a  little  of  the  lovely  evening  before 
bedtime  should  come,  told  them  to  run  out  in  the  gar 
den  for  a  while  and  the  older  ones  would  do  the  dishes. 


DR.  CHARLTON'S  STRATAGEM      295 

Just  below  where  the  sentry  was  pacing,  at  the 
foot  of  a  little  green  slope,  was  a  favorite  cherry- 
tree.  They  were  late  blackhearts,  and  the  branches 
were  still  loaded  with  the  ripe  fruit.  It  was  the 
season  of  long  June  twilights,  and  although  supper 
had  been  late  it  was  not  yet  dark.  Climbing  was  as 
easy  to  Millie  and  Charles  Ernest  and  Dorie  as  to 
squirrels,  and  the  cherries  were  tempting.  In  a  mo 
ment  they  were  all  three  up  in  the  tree,  Millie,  with 
some  unconscious  feeling  of  shyness,  having  waited 
until  the  sentry's  back  was  turned.  Once  safely  hid 
den  by  the  thick  foliage  of  the  tree,  the  three  children 
grew  very  bold. 

"I  dare  you  to  sing,  'Hang  Jeff  Davis,'  "  said 
Charlie  to  Millie. 

Millie,  like  most  gentle  creatures,  had  a  touch  of 
audacity  in  her  nature,  and  instantly  her  clear  child 
ish  treble  rang  out : 

"We  'II  hang  Jeff  Davis  on  a  sour  apple-tree, 
We  '11  hang  Jeff  Davis  on  a  sour  apple-tree, 
While  we  go  marching  on!" 

Through  the  first  stanza  the  sentry  paced  steadily 
on,  an  amused  smile  in  his  blue  eyes ;  but  when  Millie, 
growing  bolder,  began  it  all  over  again  in  still  shriller 
tones,  he  stepped  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  and  raised 
his  gun. 

"Come  down  out  of  that  tree  or  I  '11  shoot!"  he 
called. 

There  was  a  swift  scramble  of  the  two  boys,  who 

20 


296  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

dropped  to  the  ground  like  nuts  in  October  and  scur 
ried  away  in  the  twilight  to  a  safe  hiding-place.  Millie 
came  down  more  slowly  and  with  great  dignity.  She 
did  not  believe  he  would  shoot,  and  if  he  did,  would 
that  not  be  dying  for  one's  country,  and  could  any 
thing  be  more  glorious? 

But  from  that  hour  she  and  "Butternuts"  were 
devoted  friends.  There  were  often  other  sentries  on 
duty,  but  when  it  was  "Butternuts'  "  turn  Millie 
was  sure  to  be  not  far  away.  Her  heart  had  been 
won  as  the  Zulu  chieftain  wins  the  heart  of  his  bride, 
and  who  can  say  there  is  not  always  something  of 
the  simple  savage  nature  in  the  eternal  feminine? 

It  was  a  long,  hard  evening's  work  for  Mrs.  Charl- 
ton  and  Eunice  and  Lucy.  When  ten  o'clock  came 
and  Mrs.  Charlton  and  the  two  girls,  looking  white 
and  worn,  were  still  drudging  in  the  hot  kitchen, 
Dr.  Charlton  rebelled.  He  had  tried  his  best  to  help 
them,  but  the  clever  scholar  was  awkward  enough  at 
household  tasks  and  only  succeeded  in  being  more  of 
a  hindrance  than  a  help.  When,  at  last,  every  piece 
of  silver  and  china  and  glass  was  in  its  place  for  the 
night  and  the  kitchen  made  neat  for  the  morning,  he 
called  a  council  of  war  while  the  three  tired  women 
sat  out  on  the  cool  veranda  for  a  little  rest. 

All  was  quiet  on  the  campus.  Except  for  the  occa 
sional  flicker  of  a  smoldering  camp-fire  and  the  gleam 
of  the  scattered  white  tents  in  the  moonlight,  no  one 
would  have  guessed  that  an  army  lay  sleeping  at  their 
door.  Just  below  them  the  faithful  "Butternuts" 
paced  back  and  forth,  but  so  soft  were  his  footfalls 


DR.  CHABLTON'S  STRATAGEM  297 

on  the  deep  turf  that  but  for  the  gleam  of  a  moon 
beam  on  his  bayonet  they  might  have  forgotten  his 
presence.  Since  he  was  so  near,  it  behooved  them 
to  speak  low,  and  in  whispers  the  doctor  unfolded  his 
plan. 

"Delightful!"  whispered  Lucy,  ecstatically;  but 
Eunice  was  a  little  doubtful,  and  Mrs  Charlton  mur 
mured  : 

"Oh,  Robert,  I  am  afraid!  What  if  it  should  get 
you  into  trouble ! ' ' 

But  the  doctor  had  no  fears,  and  the  next  morning 
at  eight  o'clock  saw  the  little  family  assembled  up 
stairs  in  "mother's  room,"  making  a  picnic  breakfast 
of  cold  meat  and  bread  and  butter.  Every  shutter 
was  bowed,  and  they  were  all  moving  about  on  tip 
toe  and  speaking  in  whispers ;  even  Baby  Ned  catching 
the  infection  from  the  others,  and  distorting  his  sweet 
baby  face  in  his  efforts  to  "whisper  loud,"  and  tum 
bling  over  on  his  little  snub  nose  whenever  he  tried 
to  walk  around  on  the  tips  of  his  baby  toes.  The 
effect,  to  one  looking  at  the  house  from  the  outside, 
was  of  a  family  still  buried  in  a  late  Sunday-morn 
ing  sleep. 

Now  the  last  words  of  the  colonel  the  evening  Before 
had  been,  "We  will  be  in  to  breakfast  at  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning."  A  little  before  eight,  therefore,  one 
of  the  boys,  "peeking"  through  the  half-turned  slats, 
reported  the  colonel  as  brushing  his  hair  and  beard 
before  a  little  glass  hung  on  the  outside  of  his  tent. 
A  moment  later  the  same  outlook  reported  him  as  gaz 
ing  anxiously  up  at  the  closed  shutters.  From  time 


298  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

to  time,  through  the  progress  of  their  own  breakfast, 
one  after  another  stole  to  the  window  and  announced 
new  developments.  Now  the  whole  staff  had  gathered 
before  the  colonel's  tent  and  were  evidently  discus 
sing  the  situation.  Now  they  had  advanced  in  a 
body  as  far  as  the  little  gate  in  the  hedge.  They  had 
stopped  there  to  hold  another  consultation.  One  of 
the  younger  officers  had  gone  forward  to  interview 
the  sentinel.  He  had  returned  and  evidently  re 
ported  no  one  stirring  and  dining-room  windows  and 
all  the  lower  windows  tightly  closed  and  barred.  The 
staff  were  retreating  in  a  body  to  the  colonel's  tent. 
They  were  hanging  around  disconsolately,  with  many 
longing  glances  directed  toward  the  bowed  shutters. 
At  length  the  colonel  boldly  determines  on  reconnoi- 
tering  alone.  He  passes  through  the  little  gate  in  the 
hedge  and  walks  up  and  down  with  his  heaviest  tread 
directly  beneath  the  windows.  No  results.  He  retreats 
to  his  tent  for  meditation. 

By  this  time  it  is  ten  o  'clock.  Never  have  the  Charl- 
ton  children  been  in  greater  glee.  Father's  stratagem 
is  working  to  a  dot.  They  have  stolen  to  the  window 
every  minute  to  report  progress,  and  as  often  retired 
in  side-splitting  but  silent  hysterics  at  the  colonel's 
evident  mystification.  But  at  last  the  colonel  has 
made  up  his  mind.  He  calls  his  staff  around  him  and 
explains  his  line  of  action,  and  once  more  boldly 
passes  through  the  little  gate  and,  though  it  must  be 
confessed  with  slow  and  hesitating  steps,  mounts  the 
stairs  to  the  front  door  and  rings  the  bell. 

The  watchers  at  the  window  have  reported  every 


DE.  CHAELTON'S  STEATAGEM  299 

step  of  his  progress,  and  now  at  his  timid  and  depre 
cating  ring  they  are  ready  to  shriek  with  delight, 
though  Mrs.  Charlton  looks  faintly  troubled;  she  is 
not  quite  sure  how  it  will  all  end.  Dr.  Charlton  starts 
to  answer  the  bell,  but  the  daring  Lucy  interposes: 

"Oh,  wait,  father,  till  he  rings  again.  That  was 
so  faint  we  can  pretend  we  did  n't  hear  it."  And 
George  Edgar  and  Henry  Sidney  indorse  her  in  ener 
getic  whispers : 

"Oh,  yes,  father ;  make  him  wait  as  long  as  you 
can." 

But  at  the  colonel's  second  and  bolder  ring,  Dr. 
Charlton  goes  down  and  opens  the  door,  and  with 
great  dignity  bids  the  colonel  good  morning.  Some 
thing  in  the  doctor's  aspect  makes  the  colonel  feel 
like  a  trembling  school-boy,  and  though  the  authority 
is  on  his  side,  he  makes  his  demands  for  breakfast  for 
himself  and  staff  in  mildest  fashion.  With  stately 
courtesy  the  doctor  invites  him  into  the  long,  cool  par 
lors  and  lays  the  case  before  him.  His  servants  have 
fled  in  fear  of  being  confiscated.  His  wife  and 
daughters  are  unaccustomed  to  such  toil  and  unable 
to  endure  it.  They  have  no  provisions  for  feeding 
such  a  company  and  no  means  of  procuring  them. 
The  colonel  has  his  servants  with  him,  and  at  this 
moment  his  men  are  making  a  great  storehouse  of  the 
whole  "back  campus":  droves  of  oxen  are  being 
slaughtered  there,  hundreds  of  barrels  of  flour  are 
being  dumped,  and  all  kinds  of  provisions  are  arriv 
ing  every  moment.  The  colonel  shall  furnish  his  own 
servants  and  his  own  provisions,  and  Mrs.  Charlton 


300  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

will  allow  him  to  use  her  kitchen  and  its  utensils  and 
her  dining-room  and  dishes. 

No  arrangement  could  have  been  proposed  more 
satisfactory  to  the  colonel,  and  he  hurries  away  to  send 
in  his  servants  with  provisions  that  their  long-delayed 
breakfast  may  be  over  before  the  hour  for  morning 
service. 

But  at  the  threshold  he  stops  and  turns  to  the  doc 
tor  again. 

"Dr.  Charlton,"  he  says  with  hesitating  grace, 
blushing  even  through  the  deep  brown  of  summer 
suns  and  winter  winds,  ' '  I  would  like  to  ask  you  a  fa 
vor.  Will  you  say  to  Mrs.  Charlton  that  if  she  does  not 
mind  sitting  at  table  with  'rebels/  we  would  be  very 
glad  to  have  you  and  your  family  take  your  meals 
with  us.  My  servants  can  as  well  do  your  work  also, 
since  we  have  driven  yours  away." 

And  the  doctor,  confounded  by  such  courtesy  where 
he  had  feared  rudeness,  could  only  falter: 

"I  thank  you,  Colonel  Morris;  I  will  deliver  your 
invitation  to  my  wife  and  daughters.  It  will  be  for 
them  to  decide;  but  whatever  their  decision  may  be, 
believe  me,  we  will  all  appreciate  most  heartily  the 
courtesy  and  generosity  of  the  powerful  to  the  pow 
erless.  ' ' 

The  colonel  went  his  way,  and  the  doctor  turned  and 
slowly  mounted  the  stairs  to  his  wife's  room,  ponder 
ing  at  every  step  the  unexpected  success  of  his 
stratagem. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  GENERAL'S  AIDE 

THE  June  twilight  was  fast  deepening  into  night. 
The  younger  members  of  the  Charlton  family 
had  been  put  to  bed  early,  quite  worn  out  with  the  ex 
citement  and  late  hours  of  the  last  few  days.  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Charlton,  Eunice  and  Lucy,  were  on  the 
veranda,  listening  to  the  hymns  rising  from  a  thou 
sand  deep-throated  singers. 

The  young  colonel  was  a  martinet  where  religion 
was  concerned,  and  not  a  man  that  could  be  spared 
from  duty  was  missing  from  that  great  semicircle  of 
soldiers  closely  seated  on  the  grass  and  joining  fer 
vently  in  the  singing  or  listening  patiently  and  im 
movably  to  the  sermon  no  Southern  preacher  would 
venture  to  make  less  than  two  hours  in  length.  The 
two  older  boys  had  begged  to  be  allowed  to  join  the 
congregation,  and  were  seated  on  the  skirts  of  the 
throng,  with  a  devout  air  which  was  in  unconscious 
imitation  of  the  bearded  men  around  them.  Torches 
were  flaring  about  the  improvised  pulpit,  whose  bril 
liant  but  unsteady  light  threw  the  strong  faces  in  the 
front  ranks  into  bold  relief,  but  left  the  outer  circles  in 
dusk.  The  four  on  the  veranda  were  thoroughly  ap- 

301 


302  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

predating  the  picturesque  scene  and  joining  rever 
ently  in  the  spirit  of  devotion. 

"I  have  never  known  a  sweeter  or  more  peaceful 
Sabbath, ' '  said  Mrs.  Charlton,  with  a  restful  sigh. 

They  had  accepted  the  colonel's  invitation,  Mrs. 
Charlton  feeling  that  not  to  accept  it  in  the  same  gra 
cious  spirit  in  which  it  was  made  would  show  them 
selves  less  high-toned  and  generous  than  their  foe.  At 
dinner  and  supper  they  had  sat  at  table  with  these 
rough  men,  who  were  yet  thorough  gentlemen,  and  the 
colonel's  negro  servants  had  cooked  their  meals  and 
waited  on  them  with  the  effusive  politeness  native  to 
the  Southern  darky;  and  now,  in  the  quiet  of  the 
evening,  Mrs.  Charlton  was  feeling  a  delicious  sense 
of  repose  born  of  the  fact  that  no  distasteful  drudg 
eries  had  marred  the  Sabbath  peace,  and  none  awaited 
her  on  the  morrow. 

Dr.  Charlton  answered  her  little  speech: 

"It  is  wonderful!  Swell's  \vhole  corps  encamped 
in  our  town,  and  Bellaire  has  never  known  a  quieter 
Sunday!" 

There  was  a  little  disturbance  down  at  the  big 
gate  that  led  to  the  street.  Two  officers  on  horseback 
were  trying  to  ride  into  the  president's  garden,  and 
the  sentry  was  preventing  them.  The  officer  in  ad 
vance  was  a  man  whose  hair  and  beard  were  fast  turn 
ing  white.  He  was  dressed  in  an  old  suit  of  gray 
with  the  three  stars  of  a  colonel  embroidered  on  the 
collar,  and  an  old  gray  hat  of  soft  felt  was  pulled 
down  over  kindly  brown  eyes  in  whose  depths  lurked 
the  flash  of  the  lightning.  He  was  of  splendid  phy 
sique  and  was  riding  a  magnificent  horse. 


THE  GENERAL'S  AIDE  303 

As  the  sentinel  refused  them  entrance,  the  younger 
officer  tried  to  interpose ;  evidently  he  was  about  to 
tell  the  officious  sentinel  what  high  dignitary  he  was 
treating  so  summarily.  But  the  older  man  prevented. 

"No,  no,"  he  said  hastily;  "the  man  is  quite  right. 
He  is  here  to  protect  private  property,  and  we  have 
no  right  to  be  riding  over  garden  paths. ' ' 

And  then  in  a  lower  tone,  as  they  turned  their  horses 
down  the  street  toward  the  Iron  Gate : 

"You  must  not  forget  that  I  am  trying  to  conceal 
my  identity.  I  think  you  came  very  near  betraying 
me  to  that  private. ' ' 

The  younger  man  was  abashed,  and  earnestly 
begged  his  superior 's  pardon.  But  he  was  also  greatly 
disappointed.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  white 
dresses  on  the  veranda,  and  he  had  been  ardently 
longing  for  a  closer  view  of  them. 

They  rode  through  the  Iron  Gate,  where  the  counter 
sign  gave  them  ready  entrance,  and  under  a  clump 
of  trees  dismounted  and  tied  their  horses,  walked 
forward  to  the  great  congregation,  and  sat  down  on 
the  outer  circle.  It  was  already  growing  dark  there 
under  the  trees,  and  no  one  noticed  them  as  they  took 
their  seats  and  pulled  their  hats  still  lower  over  their 
eyes. 

The  congregation  was  singing  with  swelling  chorus, 

"How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord!" 

The  two  officers  took  no  part  in  the  singing  until  the 
last  stanza,  and  then  in  a  low  voice,  but  with  concen 
trated  earnestness,  the  older  man  sang: 


304  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"The  soul  that  on  Jeaus  hath  leaned  for  repose, 
I  will  not — I  will  not  desert  to  his  foes." 


They  bowed  reverent  heads  through  the  long  and 
fervid  prayer,  but  when  the  preacher  had  announced 
his  text  and  his  congregation  were  settling  themselves 
more  comfortably  for  patient  listening,  the  older  man 
arose  and  b'eekoned  the  younger  to  follow  him.  He 
could  not  see  the  dismay  in  his  subordinate's  eyes,  he 
did  not  know  that  for  the  second  time  he  was  in 
tensely  disappointed.  The  young  officer  had  been 
nervous  and  restless  through  the  hymn  and  the  prayer, 
straining  his  eyes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  white 
dresses  on  the  veranda.  He  had  just  decided  that 
since  he  could  leave  his  general  safe  among  his  sol 
diers,  he  must  ask  for  a  few  minutes'  leave  of  absence 
to  call  at  the  president's  house.  To  have  the  sum 
mons  that  could  not  be  disregarded  come  at  that  very 
moment  was  hard  to  bear.  For  the  first  time  the 
young  aide  followed  the  great  commander  reluctantly. 

As  they  moved  off  in  the  darkness  toward  their 
horses,  the  general  threw  his  arm  affectionately  over 
his  aide's  shoulder. 

"Rex,"  he  said  gravely,  "I  am  greatly  troubled. 
No  word  from  Stuart  yet— do  you  think  anything  can 
have  happened  to  him?" 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  not,  sir,"  Rex  answered,  eager  to 
quiet  his  general's  anxieties.  "Nothing  ever  happens 
to  Stuart— he  '11  turn  up  in  a  day  or  two." 

"A  day  or  two!"  exclaimed  the  other,  with  unusual 
bitterness.  "And  I  am  perfectly  in  the  dark  as  to 


THE  GENERAL'S  AIDE  306 

where  Hooker  or  Hancock  or  Meade  is.  It  is  Stuart's 
duty  to  keep  me  informed.  He  has  never  failed  me, 
and  I  fear  some  great  disaster.  Rex,  I  tell  you  we  are 
walking  into  a  trap  !  I  must  find  out  where  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  is  by  to-morrow  night,  or  we  are 
undone ! ' ' 

Rex  hesitated  for  the  fraction  of  a  second,  and  then 
he  said  quietly: 

"And  I  will  undertake  to  find  it  out  for  you,  sir." 

"You!"  exclaimed  his  general,  aghast  for  a  mo 
ment.  ' '  You  are  no  scout ! ' ' 

"No,  sir,"  returned  Rex;  "but  I  know  this  country 
well.  I  know  the  roads  to  York  and  Hanover,  Balti 
more  and  Washington.  I  am  sure  I  can  find  out  by 
to-morrow  morning  what  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
is  doing,  and  you  shall  know  by  to-morrow  night." 

But  the  general  would  not  listen  at  first. 

"No,"  he  said;  "that  is  the  duty  of  scouts.  Not 
even  a  trained  scout  could  ride  through  the  enemy's 
country  without  every  moment  being  in  danger  of  his 
life.  It  is  not  your  duty;  they  will  take  you  for  a 
spy.  No,  Rex;  I  could  never  look  your  mother  in 
the  face  again  if  I  sent  her  boy  off  on  such  an  errand 
and  he  died  a  shameful  death." 

But  Rex  was  on  fire  now  with  the  idea  of  doing  some 
great  service  for  his  idolized  chief. 

"Let  me  go,  sir!"  he  begged.  "If  I  lose  my  life,  I 
could  not  lose  it  in  a  better  cause ;  there  is  no  way  in 
which  I  could  make  it  count  for  so  much.  But  I  shall 
not  lose  it;  I  shall  be  back  to-morrow,  and  you  shall 
know  what  you  want  to  know." 


306  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

They  had  reached  their  horses  by  this  time,  and 
Rex  was  eager  to  secure  his  general's  permission  and 
be  off.  He  knew  he  had  a  long  and  hard  ride  before 
him  and  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  yet  he  had  in 
mind  that  he  would  take  five  minutes  first  and  call  at 
Dr.  Charlton's  house  and  learn  what  he  could  of  Eu 
nice.  Leaning  on  their  horses'  necks  in  the  deep 
shadow  of  the  trees,  they  talked  long  and  earnestly: 
Eex  eager  and  impatient  as  he  dared  to  be,  the  gen 
eral  doubtful,  hesitating,  and  convinced  against  his 
will.  And  when  he  had  yielded  at  last,  there 
were  still  the  arrangements  to  be  talked  over  and  a 
place  of  meeting  to  be  decided  upon,  and  by  the 
time  they  were  ready  to  mount  their  horses  the 
sermon  had  ended,  the  congregation  had  broken  up, 
and  the  campus  had  taken  on  the  stillness  of  night 
and  sleep. 

Rex  hoped  there  was  still  time  for  his  call,  but 
he  must  first  see  his  commander  safely  to  General 
E well's  headquarters  at  the  barracks,  and  every  delay 
fretted  him.  His  general  would  not  let  him  come 
farther  than  the  sentry  at  the  gates  of  the  barracks. 

"I  am  perfectly  safe  now,  Rex,"  he  said;  "and 
you  must  be  off."  And  then  leaning  from  his  horse 
and  taking  Rex's  hand  in  an  iron  grip,  he  said  ten 
derly  : 

"Go,  my  son,  and  may  your  mother's  God  go  with 
you  and  bring  you  back  in  safety!" 

Rex  was  deeply  touched;  for  a  moment  he  could 
not  answer,  but  he  found  his  voice  at  last  to  say  un 
steadily  : 


THE  GENERAL'S  AIDE  307 

"Good-by,  Uncle  Robert.  If  I  do  not  come  back, 
tell  my  mother  good-by  for  me. ' ' 

He  wheeled  his  horse  and  dashed  away  in  the  moon 
light.  His  general  watched  him  until  he  disappeared 
in  the  shade  of  the  avenue  of  lindens  and  maples,  and 
then  he  lifted  his  face  to  the  stars  and  took  off  his  hat. 

"0  Lord  God,"  he  said  reverently,  "when  will  it 
all  end?  When  can  we  keep  our  boys  beside  us,  and 
not  send  them  out  to  almost  certain  death !  Keep  him 
and  bring  him  back  to  his  mother ! ' ' 

He  was  thinking  of  his  own  boys  and  their  mother, 
and  his  heart,  deeply  touched  by  what  seemed  to  him 
Ilex's  certain  fate,  was  wrung  for  all  the  sorrowing 
mothers  of  the  South. 

Rex  dashed  blindly  on  for  a  few  minutes,  the  mist 
in  his  eyes  blurring  the  path  before  him.  But  it 
cleared  away,  and  his  impatience  to  see  the  Charltons 
returned  with  double  force,  driving  out  every  keen 
pang  at  parting  with  his  general. 

It  is  only  two  blocks  out  of  his  way  to  the  college ; 
his  good  horse  can  cover  that  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
he  will  not  stay  more  than  five.  He  easily  reconciles 
it  with  his  conscience  to  take  this  flying  visit  on  his 
way. 

But  when  he  arrives  at  the  gate  where  he  and  his 
general  were  refused  entrance,  he  looks  up  at  the 
house  with  dismay  to  find  the  windows  all  darkened. 
Still  he  will  not  give  up  hope  entirely.  He  dismounts 
and  fastens  his  horse  to  the  ring  in  the  carriage-block, 
and  the  sentry  challenging  him  at  the  gate,  he  gives 
the  countersign.  But  it  is  the  sentry's  orders  to  admit 


308  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

no  one  after  ten  o'clock,  and  all  Rex's  arguments 
and  inducements  are  powerless  to  make  him  disobey 
orders.  The  sentinels  have  been  changed  since  Rex 
was  there  before;  it  is  the  curly-headed,  blue-eyed 
boy  in  butternuts  that  is  on  duty  now,  and  Rex  deter 
mines  to  throw  himself  upon  his  generosity.  He  asks 
him,  first,  if  there  is  a  young  lady  staying  at  Dr. 
Charlton's,  not  one  of  his  daughters.  "Butternuts" 
thinks  there  is.  There  are  two  young  ladies  and  one 
little  girl,  and  "Butternuts"  believes  the  older  young 
lady  is  not  the  president's  daughter.  Rex  asks  for  a 
description  of  her,  and  cannot  doubt  the  description 
belongs  to  Eunice,  while  he  secretly  swells  with  pride 
at  the  boy's  account  of  her  beauty.  But  the  boy  in 
sists  also  that  the  family  are  all  in  bed;  they  have 
been  abed  for  an  hour,  and  on  no  account  will  he 
permit  them  to  be  disturbed.  Then  Rex  begs  him  to 
let  him  enter  the  garden  only  so  far  as  that  white 
rose-bush  shining  in  the  moonlight.  This  the  boy 
at  last  consents  to  do,  and  Rex  gathers  two  roses 
from  the  very  bush  from  which  Eunice  plucks  one 
every  day  for  her  hair  (though  this  he  does  not 
know),  and  he  stands  for  a  minute  looking  up  at 
that  window  through  whose  bowed  shutters  she  once 
dropped  him  a  white  rose.  Is  she  there  behind 
those  shutters?  Would  she  answer  if  he  called  her 
name?  He  is  desperate.  How  can  he  go  away 
without  one  look  into  her  eyes  and  one  touch  of 
her  hand! 

But  he  has  given  his  word  of  honor  to  go  no  farther 
than  the  rose-bush  and  time  is  passing;  he  must  be 


'  Tell  her  a  friend  iu.  the  Southern  army  sent  it.'" 


THE  GENERAL'S  AIDE  309 

away  on  that  commission  that  may  well  mean  death 
to  him.  He  goes  slowly  back  to  the  boy. 

"Sentinel,"  he  says,  "will  you  do  something  for  a 
comrade  who  is  starting  on  an  expedition  which  is 
likely  to  cost  him  his  life  ? ' ' 

"Gladly,"  says  the  boy,  gravely;  "though  I  think 
we  are  all  on  an  expedition  that  is  likely  to  cost  us  our 
lives." 

Hex  assents  grimly,  and  then  he  says: 

"Will  you  take  this  rose  and  to-morrow  morning 
will  you  see  that  Miss  Harlowe  gets  it?  Be  sure  to 
remember  the  name — Miss  Harlowe,  the  beautiful 
lady  with  the  brown  curls— and  tell  her  a  friend  in 
the  Southern  army  sent  it  to  her?" 

The  boy  promises  faithfully,  and  Rex  puts  one  of 
the  two  white  roses  in  his  hand,  puts  the  other  care 
fully  away  in  his  own  breast-pocket,  says,  "Good-by, 
comrade,"  and  is  away  in  the  night  on  his  arduous 
task. 

No  one  knows  better  than  he  how  arduous  it  will 
be:  threading  dark  and  dangerous  mountain  passes, 
swimming  deep  rivers,  making  long  detours  to  avoid 
scouting  or  skirmishing  parties  of  the  enemy,  many 
weary  miles  to  be  traveled  before  the  morning  light 
will  increase  the  dangers  of  his  path,  and  liable  at 
any  moment  to  have  his  long  journey  ended  by  a 
bullet  in  his  back. 

As  his  horse  springs  forward  at  the  touch  of  his 
spur,  he  turns  in  his  saddle,  waves  his  hand  to  the 
darkened  window,  and  whispers : 

"Good-by,  Eunice!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MAJOE  MoALLISTEB 

THERE  was  great  excitement  in  the  Charlton 
household  the  next  morning.  It  was  a  time  of 
excitements;  not  a  day  passed  that  some  news 
did  not  thrill  the  family  to  its  innermost  center.  But 
none  so  far  had  stirred  them  quite  so  profoundly 
as  this  of  the  early  Monday. 

Millie  was  a  child  of  the  morning.  She  loved  to 
be  out  in  the  dewy  freshness  of  the  new  day,  and  she 
had  run  down  this  morning  to  have  a  chat  with  her 
"Butternuts"— as  she  was  beginning  to  consider  him 
— before  breakfast.  But  she  came  running  back  in 
a  moment  and  burst  into  her  mother's  room,  wildly 
excited. 

"Mother!  mother!"  she  called  before  she  had  the 
door  fairly  open,  "Cousin  Rex  has  been  here,  I  'm 
sure ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Charlton  turned  pale  and  in  her  excitement 
she  unconsciously  spoke  sharply : 

"What  do  you  mean,  Millie?"  she  said,  and  then 
seeing  Millie  look  abashed  at  the  severity  of  her  tone, 
she  added  gently: 

310 


MAJOR  MCALLISTER  311 

''There,  I  did  n't  mean  to  scold,  but  you  startled 
me,  child." 

Millie  was  holding  in  her  hand  a  white  rose,  a  little 
withered. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "some  one  sent  this  to  Miss 
Eunice  and  said  to  tell  her  it  was  from  a  friend  of 
hers  in  the  Southern  army.  And  'Butternuts'  says  he 
was  tall  and  had  very  dark  eyes  and  black,  curly  hair ; 
don 't  you  think  it  must  have  been  Cousin  Rex  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Charlton  thought  without  doubt  it  must  have 
been.  But  that  he  should  have  been  so  near  acid  not 
come  to  see  them  filled  her  with  wonder  and  regret 
and  the  keenest  pain  for  Eunice.  She  knew  nothing 
of  a  white  rose,  but  she  knew  it  might  easily  have 
some  special  significance  for  Eunice,  and  she  dreaded 
the  effect  the  sudden  announcement  of  Rex's  nearness 
might  have  on  her. 

Neither  did  she  like  to  disappoint  little  Millie,  to 
whom  the  telling  of  such  great  news  to  Miss  Eunice 
was  an  event  of  wonderful  importance,  but  she  could 
trust  her  to  see  the  reason  of  the  matter. 

"Millie,"  she  said  deprecatingly,  "it  may  frighten 
Miss  Eunice  even  more  than  it  frightened  mother  to 
hear  too  suddenly  that  Cousin  Rex  has  been  here; 
don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  ^that  I  should  take 
the  rose  to  her  and  explain  about  it?" 

"Yes  'm,"  answered  Millie,  choking  down  her  dis 
appointment  and  bravely  putting  the  rose  in  her 
mother's  hand ;  "but  you  '11  give  it  to  her  quick,  won't 
you,  mother,  before  it  fades  any  more?" 

"Right  away,"  answered  her  mother,  smiling  her 
21 


312  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

appreciation  of  the  child's  abnegation.  "And,  Mil 
lie,"  she  added  as  she  turned  to  go  up  to  Eunice's 
room,  "if  Caesar  should  announce  breakfast  before  I 
come  down,  tell  them  to  sit  down  without  me — I  may 
be  detained." 

Millie  ran  down  to  finish  her  chat  with  "Butter 
nuts,"  and  Mrs.  Charlton  went  up-stairs.  She  had 
given  Millie  those  last  instructions  because  she  was 
not  quite  sure  what  Eunice  would  do.  If  she  were 
at  all  like  other  girls  she  might  easily  faint  or  go 
into  hysterics  at  the  news,  for  Mrs.  Charlton  had 
long  since  decided  that  Rex  had  been  the  great  tragedy 
in  Eunice's  life. 

But  Eunice  was  not  like  other  girls.  She  trem 
bled  and  turned  white,  fearing  she  knew  not  what, 
while  Mrs.  Charlton  was  delicately  trying  to  prepare 
her  for  the  great  news;  but  when  she  gave  her 
the  rose  and  the  message  that  came  with  it,  a  swift 
look  of  exaltation  flashed  into  Eunice's  face. 
Her  cheeks  were  glowing,  her  eyes  were  shining, 
as  she  caught  the  rose  swiftly  from  Mrs.  Charlton 's 
hand. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Charlton,"  she  murmured  happily,  "it 
was  Rex ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Charlton  had  never  heard  Eunice  call  him  any 
thing  but  Mr.  McAllister,  but  his  name  on  her  lips 
did  not  surprise  her. 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  she  said;  and  then  she  could 
not  help  adding:  "But  why  do  you  suppose  he  did 
not  come  to  see  us?" 

"Oh,  he  could  not,"  Eunice  returned  confidently. 


MAJOR  MCALLISTER  313 

"I  'm  sure  he  would  have  come  if  he  could."  Then 
•  quick  thought  came  to  her : 

"Mrs.  Charlton,  do  you  remember  two  officers  trying 
to  ride  in  at  the  gate  last  evening,  and  the  sentinel 
would  not  let  them  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  but  why?" 

"Mrs.  Charlton,"  said  Eunice  solemnly,  "I  am  sure 
one  of  them  was  Rex.  I  was  sure  of  it  at  the  time, 
but  I  tried  to  think  it  was  only  one  of  my  foolish  fan 
cies.  I  wanted  to  run  down  to  the  gate  while  they 
were  parleying  with  the  sentry,  but  I  knew  how  fool 
ish  I  would  seem  to  all  of  you." 

"I  wish  you  had  followed  your  impulse,  Eunice," 
said  Mrs.  Charlton ;  and  then  she  added  wonderingly, 
"But  are  you  not  disappointed  to  have  him  come  so 
near  and  not  see  him?" 

"Oh,  yes,  greatly  disappointed,"  answered  Eunice, 
simply.  "But,  Mrs.  Charlton,  I  am  so  glad!  I  have 
been  afraid,  often,  that  he  might  have  been  killed 
in  one  of  those  awful  battles,  and  now  I  know  he  is 
alive."  And  to  herself  she  added,  "And  thinking 
of  me." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  significant  to  Eunice 
than  the  white  rose,  and  she  brooded  so  happily  over 
the  message  it  brought,  over  all  that  she  was  sure  it 
was  intended  to  mean,  that  she  had  little  room  for 
a  feeling  of  disappointment  or  unhappiness  of  any 
kind. 

Far  from  wanting  to  stay  in  her  room  alone,  as  Mrs. 
Charlton  had  rather  thought  she  might,  she  was 
ready  and  quite  willing  to  go  down  to  breakfast  with 


314  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

the  others,  wearing  Rex's  rose  in  her  hair,  and  her 
face  so  much  brighter  and  younger  and  sweeter  than 
it  had  been  of  late  that  the  young  officers  at  the  table, 
whose  furtive  glances  had  heretofore  been  for  Lucy's 
golden  curls,  were  now  divided  in  their  admiration 
and  lost  a  large  part  of  the  awe  with  which  they  had 
heretofore  regarded  the  New  England  school-teacher. 
And  when  the  fact  that  Eex  McAllister  has  been  in 
Bellaire  comes  up  at  the  table  (but  not  his  message 
to  Eunice),  it  appears  that  the  young  colonel  knows 
him  well,  and  has  many  tales  to  tell  of  his  prowess 
on  the  field.  Whereat  Eunice's  gray  eyes  shine  with 
such  pride  that  the  colonel  easily  guesses  her  story. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  picturesque  passes  leading  from 
the  Northumberland  Valley  across  South  Mountain 
that  Rex's  general  had  appointed  to  meet  him  not 
later  than  six  o'clock  on  Monday  evening.  Long 
before  six  the  general  was  there,  sitting  on  a  rock 
beside  a  bubbling  spring— the  spring  that  Rex  him 
self  had  selected  for  their  meeting-place,  since  it 
was  a  well-known  landmark  and  easy  to  locate. 

It  has  been  a  long,  hot  June  day,  but  in  that  pleas 
ant  forest  gjade,  high  hills  rising  all  around  it,  and 
the  little  brook  from  the  bubbling  spring  dancing 
merrily  down  its  rocky  bed  bordered  with  fragrant 
pennyroyal,  it  is  cool  and  dewy  and  refreshing  to 
the  tired  horses  and  tired  men  gathered  there. 

The  general  is  bending  over  a  map  of  southern 
Pennsylvania,  and  around  him  is  a  little  group  of  offi 
cers,  Hill,  Longstreet,  McLaws,  all  eagerly  studying 


MAJOR  MCALLISTER  315 

the  same  map  and  trying  to  guess  whether  it  is  on  the 
York  or  Hanover  or  Baltimore  turnpike  they  may 
expect  to  meet  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 

It  is  nearing  six  o'clock,  and  the  general  is  growing 
visibly  restless  and  anxious.  He  has  just  sent  one  of 
his  young  officers  out  to  see  if  he  can  discover  what 
has  become  of  his  aide,  Lieutenant  McAllister,  when 
down  the  Gettysburg  road,  from  the  opposite  direc 
tion,  he  dashes  into  sight.  He  is  worn  and  spent  and 
white.  In  the  twenty  hours  since  he  said  good-by  to 
his  general,  he  has  been  out  of  the  saddle  only  long 
enough  to  curry  and  feed  his  horse.  His  own  meals 
have  been  precarious  ones,  and  have  largely  been  made 
from  early  June  apples  picked  from  the  orchards 
along  his  route. 

But  he  brings  great  news.  First  of  all,  Hooker  is 
no  longer  commander  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 
Hooker  has  resigned  because  the  authorities  at  Wash 
ington  would  not  give  him  unconditional  control  of 
the  Harper's  Perry  troops;  and  on  the  eve  of  a  great 
battle  (for  no  one  doubts  that  a  great  battle  is  pre 
paring)  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  has  a  new  com 
mander.  That  in  itself  is  hopeful  news,  for  Meade, 
the  new  general,  has  not  yet  proved  what  he  can 
do,  and  they  have  had  trial  of  the  mettle  of  "Fight 
ing  Joe"  at  Chancellorsville,  and  know  he  is  an  an 
tagonist  to  be  dreaded. 

But  Rex's  next  news  is  disquieting.  Meade 's  army 
is  advancing  in  several  divisions,  under  Hancock, 
Reynolds,  Slocum,  and  Sickles,  toward  Gettysburg. 
Buford's  cavalry  Rex  himself  had  caught  a  glimpse 


316  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

of  not  three  hours  before,  with  their  horses'  heads 
turned  in  the  same  direction. 

And  he  has  had  news  of  Stuart,  gleaned  from  a 
band  of  refugee  farmers;  for  Rex's  coat,  the  only 
part  of  his  dress  that  made  any  pretensions  to  uni 
form,  lies  neatly  folded  in  his  saddle-bags,  and  in  his 
flannel  shirt  and  soft  felt  hat  he  can  easily  masquerade 
as  a  fleeing  farmer  himself.  Only  his  speech  might 
betray  him,  but  Rex  has  lived  four  years  within 
sound  of  the  peculiar  Pennsylvania  inflections,  and 
it  is  a  small  matter  to  adopt  them  for  his  own  when 
necessary. 

Stuart  had  been  in  engagement  with  Kilpatrick  at 
Hanover,  and  had  routed  him.  He  had  been  burning 
bridges,  tearing  up  railroads,  destroying  telegraphic 
communication,  and  capturing  supplies.  He  had  been 
most  of  the  time  between  the  Army  of  the  Potomac 
and  Washington,  and  as  the  Union  troops  were  be 
tween  him  and  his  commander,  communication  had 
been  impossible.  He  was  now  advancing  toward  York, 
but  was  moving  slowly,  hampered  by  his  captured 
trains  of  mules  and  horses. 

The  general  had  listened  quietly  through  Rex's  start 
ling  budget  of  news.  He  had  not  been  sure  until  this 
moment  that  the  Union  troops  had  crossed  the  Poto 
mac;  to  know  that  they  were  all  well  on  their  way 
toward  Gettysburg,  only  a  few  miles  distant,  was 
startling  indeed.  But  he  made  no  sign  until  Rex's 
last  words ;  then  he  groaned : 

"Oh,  what  folly!  Stuart  thinks  this  is  only  one  of 
his  raids,  and  he  spends  his  time  in  playing  with  the 


MAJOR  MCALLISTER  317 

enemy  and  thinks  I  will  be  delighted  with  his  present 
of  a  few  hundred  mules,  when  I  am  needing  him  here 
to  keep  me  informed  of  the  movements  of  the  enemy ! ' ' 
Then  he  added  with  a  burst  of  the  impatience  that  his 
generals  had  seen  before,  but  so  rarely  that  it  was 
greatly  dreaded : 

"That  is  the  way  with  cavalry!  They  are  good 
enough  for  raiding  and  foraging,  but  they  are  never 
on  hand  when  you  want  them.  Stuart  should  be  here 
at  this  minute!" 

There  was  no  reply  from  any  in  the  little  circle,  and 
the  general  sat  with  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands 
for  a  moment.  When  he  lifted  it  his  impatience  was 
all  gone,  and  he  said,  with  the  tenderness  that  was 
the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  his  character : 

"I  am  wrong.  There  is  no  finer,  more  brilliant,  or 
more  trustworthy  soldier  in  the  army  than  Stuart, 
and  he  is  only  acting  under  orders.  I  myself  told 
him  to  get  all  the  supplies  possible,  and  Longstreet 
ordered  him  to  get  in  the  rear  of  Hooker." 

And  then,  with  an  entire  change  of  tone : 

"Gentlemen,  the  hour  for  action  has  arrived!  Lieu 
tenant  Harding,  you  will  ride  at  once  to  Bellaire  and 
countermand  my  orders  to  Ewell.  I  had  ordered  him 
to  advance  on  Henrysburg  and  capture  it;  you  will 
tell  him  to  turn  his  troops  southward,  cross  South 
Mountain,  and  await  orders  at  Cashtown.  I  fear 
he  may  already  have  left ;  if  so,  you  will  follow  him, 
overtake  him,  and  turn  him  back.  The  Army  of  the 
Potomac  is  coming  north;  we  will  turn  south  and 
meet  itl" 


318  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

"Wait  one  moment/'  he  added  as  the  little  circle 
began  to  disintegrate  and  get  ready  for  movement. 
Turning  to  Rex,  he  said  formally: 

"Lieutenant  McAllister,  you  will  have  embroidered 
upon  your  collar  the  single  star  of  a  major.  I  present 
to  you,  gentlemen,  Major  McAllister,  of  my  staff,  who 
has  this  day  rendered  distinguished  service  to  the 
Southern  Confederacy ! ' ' 


CHAPTEE  XXV 

SHOT  AND   SHELL 

IT  was  as  the  general  had  feared.  Ewell  had  left 
Bellaire  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  was 
well  on  his  way  to  Henrysburg  when  the  messenger 
overtook  him  and  turned  him  back  toward  Gettysburg. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  for  the  Charltons  to  be 
lieve,  two  days  before,  that  they  would  have  seen 
their  enemy  depart  with  any  feeling  akin  to  regret. 
Yet  Colonel  Morris  and  his  staff  had  shown  them  such 
uniform  courtesy  and  consideration  that,  almost 
against  their  will,  a  feeling  of  friendliness  for  them 
had  sprung  up  in  the  hearts  of  the  Charlton  household. 
Dr.  Charlton  himself,  sturdy  patriot  though  he  was, 
took  the  colonel's  hand  with  real  feeling  at  parting, 
though  he  could  not  resist  a  Parthian  shaft. 

"You  have  been  the  most  courteous  of  foes,  Colonel 
Morris,"  he  said;  "and  I  could  wish  for  you  a  better 
lot  than  to  be  fighting  against  your  country,  and  a 
better  fate  than  a  rebel's  grave.  But  be  assured  of 
this,  if  the  tables  are  ever  turned  and  I  can  show  you 
some  of  the  kindness  you  have  shown  my  family,  it 
will  be  my  greatest  pleasure  to  do  so." 

"I  am  sure  of  that,  doctor,"  returned  the  colonel, 

319 


320  IN  OLD  BELLAIBE 

with  his  invariable  courtesy,  for  he  liked  the  doctor 
none  the  less  for  his  fearless  admonitions.  "But 
you  must  not  consider  your  obligation  as  too  heavy. 
To  be  allowed  to  spend  two  days  as  members  of  your 
family  circle  has  more  than  repaid  us  for  any  con 
sideration  we  may  have  shown  you.  It  has  been  a  boon 
to  my  officers  and  myself  that  you  can  hardly  esti 
mate.  " 

They  were  all  out  on  the  veranda  to  say  good-by  to 
him, — Mrs.  Charlton,  Eunice,  Lucy,  and  Millie.  The 
boys  were  excitedly  watching  the  formation  of  the 
marching  lines  on  the  campus,  and  with  keenly  criti 
cal  eyes  were  taking  in  every  detail  of  the  methods 
of  getting  a  great  army  under  way.  The  colonel 
diffidently  made  his  good-bys  to  the  three  ladies,  who 
were  all  cordial  to  him  in  their  characteristic  ways: 
Eunice  calmly,  Lucy  shyly,  and  Mrs.  Charlton  impul 
sively.  Little  Millie  was  silently  weeping;  for  down 
on  the  campus,  in  the  ranks  drawn  up  near  the  gate  in 
the  hedge,  stood  her  "Butternuts"  waving  his  hand  to 
her,  and  she  knew  she  would  never  see  him  again. 

No ;  she  would  never  see  him  again.  ' '  Butternuts ' ' 
and  his  colonel  both  lay  on  the  slopes  of  Seminary 
Ridge  when  that  first  day's  fighting  at  Gettysburg 
was  over,  but  a  stone's  throw  from  where  the  gal 
lant  Reynolds  had  fallen.  They  did  not  learn  the  fate 
of  "Butternuts"  until  long  years  afterward,  but  the 
papers  told  of  the  fall  of  Colonel  Morris,  acting 
brigadier-general ;  and  while  in  his  Georgia  home  there 
were  tears  and  lamentations  for  him,  and  a  mother 
refusing  to  be  comforted  for  her  only  son,  there  were 


SHOT  AND   SHELL  321 

tender  and  mournful  regrets  for  him  also  in  a  North 
ern  household. 

But  the  days  of  excitement  were  not  ended  for 
Bellaire  when  the  last  file  of  E well's  corps  marched 
out  on  the  Henrysburg  turnpike.  Monday  night  and 
Tuesday  were  quiet  enough  in  the  old  town, — so  quiet 
that  it  seemed  dull  and  forlorn  to  the  younger  mem 
bers  of  the  household,  who  had  been  living  on  excite 
ment  for  the  last  week,  and  who  could  almost  have 
wished  the  Southern  troops  back  again. 

Early  Tuesday  evening  there  was  a  little  flurry  of 
excitement  when  a  body  of  cavalry,  no  one  knew 
whose,  though  it .  was  rumored  they  were  some  of 
Stuart's  men,  dashed  into  the  west  end  of  the  town, 
rode  into  the  campus  and  fed  their  horses,  and,  each 
man  with  his  bridle  over  his  arm,  lay  down  on  the 
grass  for  a  much-needed  sleep.  At  midnight,  when 
the  quiet  town  was  buried  in  slumber,  without  sound 
of  bugle  or  trumpet  they  stole  away  so  silently  that 
although  they  were  at  the  very  doors  of  the  Charl- 
tons,  no  one  heard  them  go,  and  the  boys,  rising  early 
to  have  one  more  good  look  at  the  famous  Stuart's 
cavalry,  rubbed  their  eyes  at  sight  of  the  deserted 
campus,  emptied  as  if  by  magic. 

They  were  disappointed,  but  the  day  was  to  bring 
forth  such  startling  events  as  entirely  threw  in  the 
shade  all  that  had  gone  before. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  first  of  July,  and  at 
Gettysburg,  only  twenty  miles  away,  Hill 's  barefooted 
men,  in  search  of  shoes,  were  running  into  Buford's 


322  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

cavalry,  and  the  rattle  of  muskets  and  carbines  was 
the  opening  note  of  that  great  three  days'  battle  that 
decided  the  fate  of  a  continent:  whether  it  should 
bear  between  its  mighty  boundary  seas  two  republics 
or  one.  The  heads  of  the  columns  of  the  two  great 
armies— the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  and  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac — had  met  in  that  little  Penn 
sylvania  town,  and  neither  of  them  knew  it.  They 
took  each  the  other  to  be  mere  skirmishing  parties, 
and  the  fusillade  of  bullets  but  a  little  diversion  in 
the  great  game  of  war. 

In  Bellaire,  twenty  miles  away,  there  was  no  sound 
of  rattling  musketry ;  nor  even  when,  a  little  later,  the 
great  dogs  of  war  began  to  belch  forth  smoke  and 
shell  and  solid  shot,  did  any  echo  of  it  reach  Bellaire. 
South  Mountain  lay  between,  and  the  thunder  of 
cannon  and  all  the  awful  roar  of  a  mighty  battle 
rolled  back  and  forth  among  its  spurs  and  ridges 
until  they  lost  themselves  and  died  away  in  its  wooded 
glens. 

But  though  the  Charltons  knew  nothing  of  the  great 
battle  going  on  so  near  them,  and  in  which  the  very 
men  camped  at  their  door  only  two  days  before  were 
playing  a  giant's  part,  they  had  enough  to  keep  hearts 
and  hands  fully  occupied.  The  Union  troops  were 
coming  back!  They  would  be  once  more  within  the 
Union  lines,  and  though  they  had  been  shut  out  of 
them  for  only  five  days,  it  seemed  a  long  and  weary 
time. 

By  five  o'clock  the  troops  began  to  come  in,  and 
at  the  first  news  of  their  arrival  the  town  flocked 


SHOT  AND  SHELL  323 

to  the  Square  to  give  them  welcome,  bringing  with 
them  every  dainty  that  their  long-unreplenished  lar 
ders  could  scrape  together. 

These  were  no  seasoned  veterans;  they  were  the 
State  reserves,  and  the  long  march  from  Henrysburg 
had  tested  their  mettle.  The  townspeople  were  wild 
with  delight  at  seeing  the  boys  in  blue,  and  very 
beautiful  they  looked  in  their  new  uniforms  and 
shining  accoutrements,  after  the  rags  and  homespun 
of  the  Southerners.  At  least  so  thought  Lucy,  though 
Eunice  could  not  but  feel  that  these  were  only  playing 
at  war — those  others  had  known  all  its  horrors. 

But  though  the  soldiers  were  militia  who  had  never 
seen  a  battle,  their  officers  were  most  of  them  veter 
ans,  and  as  at  the  command,  "Stack  arms!  Break 
ranks ! ' '  the  soldiers  threw  themselves  on  the  ground 
to  rest,  an  officer  sprang  from  his  horse,  gave  the 
bridle  to  an  orderly,  and  hurried  over  to  where  Eunice 
was  standing  alone,  separated  from  Lucy  and  Mil 
lie  by  the  crowding  of  the  closely  packed  mass  of 
people  come  down  to  welcome  the  soldiers.  The 
pushing  had  forced  her  to  the  front,  and  so  hers  was 
the  first  face  on  which  the  young  captain's  glance 
rested. 

"Eunice!"  he  called  as  he  reached  her  side.  She 
looked  up,  greatly  startled,  for  she  had  not  seen  him 
coming  and  for  a  moment  she  did  not  recognize  him; 
bearded  and  bronzed  by  nine  months  of  hard  service, 
he  looked  little  enough  like  the  John  Rogers  she  had 
known. 

"Come  away,"  he  said,  when  her  joyful  greeting 


324  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

assured  him  that  he  was  not  forgotten.  "We  have 
given  the  men  one  hour  to  lie  on  the  ground  and  rest 
while  the  commissaries  are  arranging  for  their  quar 
ters  for  the  night.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that, 
and  I  can  spend  my  hour  with  you." 

He  forced  a  passage  for  her  through  the  crowd,  and 
hurried  her  along  Main  Street  toward  the  college. 

* '  I  want  to  see  the  old  campus  once  more,  Eunice, ' ' 
he  said;  "it  may  be  my  last  chance.  I  was  detailed 
to  help  bring  the  reserves  up  from  Henrysburg,  but 
I  am  to  go  on  to-morrow  to  join  my  own  regiment  at 
Gettysburg,  and  I  have  much  to  hear  and  tell  in  this 
hour." 

To  Eunice  the  meeting  gave  only  pure  joy,  but  to 
him  the  pain  and  joy  were  nearly  equal.  She  was 
lovelier  than  he  had  remembered  her,  but  almost  her 
first  words  reassured  him  of  what  he  had  always 
known— that  she  was  not  for  him.  She  was  bubbling 
over  with  the  happiness  of  having  heard  from  Rex 
once  more,  and  in  John  she  was  sure  of  a  sympathetic 
listener. 

But  she  was  not  selfishly  interested  in  her  own  af 
fairs;  she  was  very  deeply  and  intensely  interested 
also  in  his  experiences  of  camp  and  battle.  They  had 
walked  down  Lovers'  Lane  and  then  far  beyond  the 
campus  out  toward  Mile  Hill,  famous  for  its  views 
of  sunsets,  where  they  had  often  walked  in  the  old 
days,  and  John  was  in  the  midst  of  a  thrilling  re- 
countal  of  the  horrors  of  Chancellorsville  when  over 
their  heads  flew  a  screeching  and  screaming  shell, 
and  burst  just  beyond  them. 


SHOT  AND  SHELL  325 

It  was  a  familiar  sound  to  John,  and  he  knew  in 
stantly  what  it  meant.  Eunice,  who  had  never  heard 
it  Before,  stood  aghast  at  what  she  thought  was  some 
new  and  hideous  kind  of  rocket  celebrating  the  ap 
proaching  Fourth.  It  was  no  time  for  ceremony. 
John  seized  her  hand  and  with  a  laconic  "The  rebels ! 
We  must  run  for  it!"  began  to  hurry  her  toward 
home,  running  as  long  as  Eunice's  breath  held  out, 
and  walking  with  long  strides  or  half  carrying  her 
when  it  failed. 

It  was  not  only  to  get  Eunice  safely  under  cover 
that  he  was  so  impatient,  but  it  fretted  him  greatly 
to  be  absent  from  his  post  when  he  knew  not  what 
emergency  had  arisen,  and  was  aware  how  greatly 
he  must  be  needed  with  raw  and  undisciplined  troops 
under  fire  for  the  first  time. 

It  seemed  to  him  they  would  never  reach  the  little 
gate  in  the  hedge,  as  shell  and  shot  came  faster  and, 
the  gunners  getting  their  aim,  no  longer  flew  far  over 
the  town,  but  fell  constantly  nearer.  They  had  just 
reached  the  gate  and  John  had  passed  through  first 
to  hold  it  open  for  Eunice,  when  a  shell  burst  directly 
over  their  heads. 

"Pall!"  John  shouted,  and  fell  flat  himself  that 
the  flying  fragments  might  have  less  chance  of  strik 
ing.  Eunice  did  not  hear  his  command;  she  only 
heard  the  awful  explosion,  saw  John  fall,  and  did 
not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  he  was  killed.  She  never 
knew  how  she  mounted  the  veranda  steps,  walked 
through  the  hall,  and  went  down  the  stairway  to  the 
basement,  where  the  terrified  family  had  gathered  for 


326  IN  OLD   BELLAIRE 

refuge  from  the  flying  shells.  At  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  Mrs.  Charlton,  waiting  for  her,  saw  her  white 
face  and  that  John  was  half  supporting  her.  Eunice's 
eyes  were  wide  with  horror. 

"Mr.  Rogers  is  killed!"  she  gasped,  and  sank 
fainting  into  Mrs.  Charlton 's  outstretched  arms. 

"Take  care  of  her,  Mrs.  Charlton,  please,"  said 
John,  deeply  moved:  "she  is  not  hurt— only  terribly 
frightened.  I  dare  not  stay.  I  must  hasten  back  to 
my  command."  And  without  stopping  for  greeting  or 
good-by,  he  hurried  away. 

Five  thousand  troops  had  marched  into  Bellaire  and 
stacked  their  guns  under  the  green  trees  of  the 
Square,  and  fully  five  thousand  citizens  were  massed 
around  the  edges  of  the  Square  to  see  them  come. 
The  men  were  lying  at  ease  on  the  soft  grass,  devour 
ing  with  the  relish  of  hungry  men  the  tarts  and  pies 
and  cakes  and  fruit  and  sandwiches  the  people  had 
lavished  upon  them,  joking  with  each  other  over  the 
incidents  of  their  first  long  march,  or,  when  they  were 
near  enough,  laughing  and  chatting  with  the  citizens 
—when  swinging  into  the  east  end  of  Main  Street 
thundered  a  body  of  cavalry  singing  lustily  as  they 
rode  Stuart's  famous  song,  "Jine  the  Cavalry." 

The  frightened  pickets,  many  of  them  young  boys, 
and  all  of  them  seeing  the  enemy  for  the  first  time, 
fired  their  guns  and  fled.  At  such  a  reception,  Fitz- 
hugh  Lee,  leading  the  advance  brigade  of  Stuart's 
cavalry,  expecting  to  find  his  own  friends  in  the  town, 
and  supplies  of  all  kinds  that  his  men  greatly  needed, 


SHOT  AND  SHELL  327 

stopped  short,  thoroughly  nonplussed.  No  one  had 
told  him  that  Lee's  army  had  turned  south  again. 
His  instructions  had  been  to  get  in  touch  as  soon  as 
possible  with  EwelPs  corps,  and  he  had  expected  to 
find  Ewell  in  Bellaire.  Where,  then,  was  Lee's  army? 
Where  was  Ewell?  Fitzhugh  Lee  did  not  know,  but 
he  intended  to  find  out.  He  withdrew  a  little  from 
the  town,  planted  his  field-guns  on  a  slight  elevation 
commanding  it,  and  sent  that  first  shell  screaming 
over  its  streets. 

In  the  Square,  at  that  first  rattle  of  musketry,  the 
men  had  sprung  to  their  arms,  almost  without  wait 
ing  for  the  command.  The  flying  pickets  brought 
terror  with  them. 

"Stuart's  cavalry!"  they  shouted,  for  Stuart's  song 
was  too  well  known  to  leave  them  in  any  doubt. 
Stuart  was  a  name  to  drive  dismay  to  the  hearts  of 
seasoned  veterans;  they  were  brave  young  militia, 
indeed,  who  dared  to  form  in  line  against  him. 

The  rattle  of  musketry  meant  very  little  to  the 
densely  packed  citizens.  They  had  heard  it  often  of 
late,  for  picket-firing  and  skirmishing  had  come  to 
be  every-day  affairs.  "Picket-firing,"  they  said  to 
themselves,  and  stood  still.  But  when  they  saw  the 
soldiers  springing  to  arms,  saw  the  flying  pickets,  and 
heard  the  wild  cries  from  all  sides,  ' '  The  rebels !  The 
rebels!"  panic  seized  them. 

In  that  mad  flight  for  home,  children  were  ruth 
lessly  hustled  aside,  and  little  Millie  was  torn  from 
Lucy  and  carried  up  a  narrow  back  street  by  a  rush 
ing  stream  of  humanity  that  swept  her  along  with 

22 


328  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

them,  with  no  volition  of  her  own.  She  had  no  idea 
why  they  were  fleeing,  for  she  had  not  understood 
the  cry  of  "The  rebels!  The  rebels!"  but  she  must 
run  with  the  others  or  be  trampled  by  them. 

At  her  own  gate  she  found  herself  free  from  the 
crowd,  and  looking  down  to  the  Iron  Gate  corner, 
saw  her  mother  and  Miss  Caroline  Perkins  and  ran 
quickly  down  to  them.  They  were  standing  there, 
very  calmly,  watching  the  flying  crowds,  and  won 
dering  what  it  all  meant,  but  without  excitement. 
There  had  been  so  many  startling  things  of  late  that 
they  were  growing  hardened,  and  it  would  have  to  be 
something  very  startling,  indeed,  that  would  shake 
Miss  Caroline,  model  of  deportment  to  young  ladies, 
from  her  elegant  equipoise. 

But  it  came !  Over  their  heads  flew  the  screeching 
and  screaming  shell.  The  two  ladies  and  Millie  looked 
up. 

"A  rocket,"  said  Miss  Caroline,  mildly  wondering. 

' '  A  shell ! ' '  cried  Mrs.  Charlton,  wildly.  ' '  Oh,  Miss 
Caroline,  how  will  you  get  home!  I  can't  go  with  you. 
My  children  are  scattered  all  over  town.  I  must  get 
them  together." 

A  mother's  terror  was  in  her  voice  and  face. 

"Do  not  fear  for  me,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Caroline, 
trembling  but  brave.  "Go  find  your  children,  and  I 
will  seek  Phoebe!" 

And  fast  as  her  old  limbs  could  carry  her,  tottering 
now  with  fear  more  than  with  age,  and  with  anxiety 
for  her  sister  more  than  both,  she  hurried  away.  Mrs. 
Charlton  waited  only  to  see  that  her  old  friend  was 


SHOT  AND   SHELL  329 

moving  off  at  a  pace  that  would  soon  bring  her  to 
the  shelter  of  home,  and  then,  with  Millie  clinging 
to  her  hand,  uttering  no  cry,  but  with  winged  feet 
pulling  her  mother  faster  and  faster,  Mrs.  Charlton 
ran  as  she  had  not  run  in  years. 

The  shells  were  flying  fast  by  the  time  they  reached 
home,  and,  as  Mrs.  Charlton  had  said,  not  a  child  was 
there,  not  even  Dr.  Charlton.  But  they  came  flying 
in  from  all  directions  in  a  moment,  George  Edgar 
carrying  Baby  Ned,  and  Lucy  and  Henry  Sidney,  who 
had  been  hunting  for  the  lost  Millie,  not  far  behind. 
"Me  'n'  Charlie,"  as  the  two  inseparable  little  boys 
were  called  by  the  family  in  gentle  ridicule  of  Theo 
dore  Howard's  constant  phrase,  came  from  no  one 
knew  where,  and  no  one  asked,  so  happy  were  they 
to  be  all  together  again.  Last  of  all  came  the  doctor, 
who  had  been  rounding  up  his  little  family,  and  they 
gathered  together  in  mother's  room,  wondering  what 
the  night  was  to  bring  to  them.  Millie  and  the  little 
boys  huddled  together  on  a  couch,  their  arms  around 
one  another.  Each  little  heart  was  brave  with  the  hero 
ism  of  childhood.  This  was  a  battle,  and  before  morn 
ing  they  would  all  be  dead— they  did  not  for  a  mo 
ment  doubt  it ;  but  silently  they  sat  there,  close  clasped 
in  each  other 's  arms,  trembling  but  uttering  no  sound. 
They  were  all  greatly  distressed  at  Eunice's  absence; 
but  Lucy,  too  far  away  to  get  near  them,  had  seen 
the  officer  that  she  had  recognized  sooner  than  Eu 
nice  to  be  Mr.  Rogers,  and  it  was  some  comfort  to 
know  that  he  was  with  her  and  taking  care  of  her. 

But  the  shot  and  shell,  that  had  at  first  flown  far 


330  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

over  the  town,  had  gradually  been  coming  nearer, 
and  now  they  were  falling  and  bursting  all  about  the 
campus  and  the  president's  house.  Dr.  Charlton  had 
begun  to  think  they  must  move  down-stairs  to  safer 
quarters,  when  one  struck  the  house,  tearing  out  great 
stones  from  the  wall  and  completely  wrecking  the 
room  and  its  furniture  where  it  struck.  It  was  the 
room  next  to  the  one  where  they  were  all  gathered, 
and  Baby  Ned,  too  young  to  know  much  about  self- 
control,  broke  into  terrified  wailing  and  would  be 
comforted  only  in  his  father's  arms. 

Hurriedly  Dr.  Charlton  marshaled  them  all  down 
stairs  into  the  basement,  where  the  thick  foundation 
walls  offered  better  chance  of  protection.  There  was 
no  sign  of  fear  in  his  voice  or  his  manner,  and  Mrs. 
Charlton,  now  that  her  children  were  all  about  her, 
was  calm,  cheerful,  and  resourceful ;  but  on  no  child 's 
heart  did  terror  lie  so  heavy  as  on  theirs.  It  was 
fear  for  her  children  and  her  husband  that  held 
its  cold  clutch  of  her  heart ;  it  was  fear  for  his  adored 
wife  and  their  little  ones  that  came  near  at  moments 
to  unmanning  as  brave  a  heart  as  ever  beat. 

Hardly  had  they  reached  the  basement  when  an 
other  shell  seemed  to  strike  the  house,  so  near  were  its 
horrible  detonations.  But  it  was  the  fine  old  linden 
that  was  struck  just  above  the  heads  of  Eunice  and  Cap 
tain  Rogers,  and  it  was  only  a  moment  later  that  the 
trembling  family  in  the  basement  heard  hurried  steps 
in  the  hall  above  and  knew  it  must  be  Eunice.  They 
saw  her  coming  down  the  steps  with  wide,  unsee 
ing  eyes  and  colorless  face,  Captain  Rogers  by  her 


SHOT  AND   SHELL  331 

side,  heard  her  words,  and  knew  that  she  had  been  as 
one  dead  from  the  moment  Captain  Rogers  had  fallen. 

This  death-like  swoon  was  a  new  terror  to  them; 
the  horrors  of  the  night  seemed  to  be  folding  them 
about  as  with  a  pall.  By  the  time  Eunice  had  recov 
ered  consciousness  and  had  been  made  to  understand 
that  Captain  Rogers  was  absolutely  unhurt,  the  gas 
went  out  all  over  the  house.  Either  by  some  acciden 
tal  shot  or  wilfully,  the  Confederates  had  set  the  gas 
works  afire  and  the  whole  eastern  sky  was  ablaze. 
Fortunately,  there  were  candles  at  hand,  but  they 
made  a  dim  and  gruesome  light  compared  with  the 
cheery  gaslight. 

The  firing  had  been  growing  more  furious;  it  was 
now  one  continued  and  deafening  roar,  though  not 
so  many  shells  fell  on  the  campus,  as  the  guns  seemed 
to  be  trained  finally  on  the  soldiers  in  the  Square. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  lull,  and  in  a  few  moments, 
greatly  to  the  delight  and  comfort  of  them  all,  Captain 
Rogers  appeared  at  the  basement  door.  He  had  come 
on  sad  business,  but  he  had  solicited  the  errand  that 
he  might  see  how  his  friends  were  getting  on.  He  was 
greatly  relieved  to  find  that  the  shells  had  done  no 
more  serious  damage,  and  that  Eunice  had  entirely 
recovered. 

"They  have  sent  in  a  flag  of  truce,"  he  said,  "and 
now  our  general  and  Fitzhugh  Lee  are  conferring. 
Fitzhugh  demands  a  surrender,  but  I  don't  think 
there  is  any  danger  of  'Baldy'  surrendering  as  long 
as  his  ammunition  holds  out  and  his  men  keep  their 
courage ;  they  are  behaving  like  veterans. ' ' 


332  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Then  turning  to  Dr.  Charlton: 

"I  am  sent,  sir,  to  ask  your  permission  to  use  one 
of  the  college  buildings  as  a  hospital.  They  have  been 
raking  the  streets  with  grape  and  canister,  and  they 
are  ugly  things.  We  want  to  get  the  wounded  up  in 
the  west  end  here,  as  far  from  the  firing  as  possible, 
and  put  a  red  light  over  the  building.  I  think  they 
will  understand  and  respect  it,  and  train  their  guns 
elsewhere. ' ' 

It  was  wonderful  how  the  thought  of  doing  some 
thing  to  help  put  life  and  spirit  into  every  one.  All 
the  terror  of  the  children  fled  away,  and  Lucy  and 
Eunice  were  full  of  fire  and  patriotism.  Dr.  Charlton 
went  at  once  with  Captain  Rogers  to  see  about  get 
ting  the  keys  of  West  College  and  opening  the  rooms. 
Mrs.  Charlton  hurried  up-stairs  to  look  among  her 
store  of  linen  and  blankets  and  pillows,  to  see  what 
could  be  spared  for  the  wounded.  Lucy  and  Eunice 
helped  her  to  put  them  up  in  packages,  and,  with  the 
two  older  boys,  carried  them  over  to  West  College. 
Millie  and  the  two  younger  boys,  proud  and  happy 
to  be  employed  on  errands  of  such  importance,  were 
sent  around  the  neighborhood,  from  house  to  house, 
to  beg  supplies  of  all  kinds  to  be  sent  over  to  the  hos 
pital.  For  an  hour  there  was  no  firing  and  every  one 
was  at  work  and  happy. 

Eunice,  indeed,  had  found  her  vocation.  As  the 
wounded  began  to  be  brought  in  she  was  for  a  mo 
ment  overcome  with  faintness  at  the  sight  of  suffering 
and  wounds ;  but  the  strength  of  will  that  had  enabled 
her  to  withstand  Rex's  pleading  came  to  her  support 


SHOT  AND   SHELL  333 

now.  She  begged  the  surgeons  to  be  allowed  to  stay 
and  help  them,  and  when  they  would  have  demurred 
she  said  steadily : 

"Only  try  me;  if  I  prove  unfit  you  can  send  me 
away. ' ' 

Dr.  Charlton,  too,  tried  to  dissuade  her;  he  feared 
it  would  be  more  than  she  could  endure ;  but  when  he 
looked  into  her  face  and  saw  the  exaltation  of  soul 
glowing  in  her  serene  eyes,  he  dared  say  no  more. 

Captain  Rogers  alone  had  only  words  of  encourage 
ment  for  her.  He  had  been  superintending  all  the  ar 
rangements,  and  now  he  was  going  back  to  his  post. 
The  firing  had  begun  again,  faster  and  more  furious. 
The  rest  of  Stuart's  cavalry  had  come  up  and  new 
guns  had  been  unlimbered.  Like  the  others,  these 
must  get  the  range,  and,  like  the  others,  their  shot 
seemed  at  first  to  fall  around  the  college  buildings. 

But  the  heavy  boom  of  solid  shot  and  the  rending 
and  tearing  of  bursting  shell  had  no  longer  any  ter 
rors  for  Eunice.  In  these  short  hours  that  she  had 
been  under  fire,  she  seemed  to  have  been  lifted  out  of 
herself.  She  was  knowing  now  a  little  of  the  horrors 
of  war,  of  which  Rex  knew  so  much,  and  glorying  in 
the  knowledge.  She  was  ardently  longing  to  do  some 
thing  heroic  that  could  prove  her  worthy  of  his  hero 
ism.  For  his  sake  she  could  nerve  herself  to  go 
through  scenes  from  which  the  whole  tender  woman 
within  her  shrank,  passionately  feeling  that  every 
gaping  wound  was  his,  that  it  was  his  groans  and 
his  suffering  she  was  soothing  with  her  cool  and  tender 
touch. 


334  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Yet  when  Captain  Rogers  was  ready  to  go  and  came 
to  tell  her  good-by,  her  heart  failed  her  for  a  moment. 
She  had  not  realized  how  much  she  had  leaned  upon 
his  strong  and  cheery  presence  in  these  terrible  sur 
roundings. 

"Come  out  with  me  for  a  breath  of  air,"  he  said, 
seeing  her  sudden  pallor.  "It  will  do  you  good,  and 
you  will  come  back  stronger  for  your  work." 

They  stood  under  the  quiet  stars  for  a  moment  with 
out  speaking,  the  cool  night  air  refreshing  and  re 
viving  them  both.  The  guns  had  got  their  range 
again;  only  an  occasional  shot  plowed  up  the  green 
turf  of  the  campus  or  an  occasional  shell  shattered 
some  of  its  beautiful  trees.  Eunice  shuddered  at  every 
shot,  but  no  longer  feared  them.  John  did  not  even 
hear  them. 

"Eunice,"  he  said  wistfully,  "there  is  certain  to  be 
a  great  and  awful  battle  in  the  next  few  days.  The 
two  armies  are  rapidly  coming  together,  and  some 
where  near  here,  I  think,  it  will  be  fought.  Do  you 
know  what  I  have  been  thinking  as  I  saw  you  moving 
about  among  those  wounded  men  and  bringing  com 
fort  and  smiles  in  place  of  distress  and  groans?  I 
was  praying  that,  should  it  be  my  lot  to  be  wounded 
in  the  impending  battle,  it  would  not  be  so  far  away 
that  you  could  not  come  and  be  the  angel  of  mercy 
and  comfort  to  me  that  you  have  been  to  them. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  are  wrong!"  Eunice  answered 
quickly.  "I  hope  there  will  be  no  more  awful  bat 
tles— I  could  not  bear  it!" 

She  was  thinking  of  Rex  and  that  he  had  escaped 


SHOT  AND   SHELL  335 

so  far,  but  she  could  not  hope  that  he  would  always 
be  invulnerable.  Then  a  sudden  compunction  seized 
her.  She  should  be  thinking  also  of  this  friend  who 
had  been  so  steadfastly  kind  to  her,  and  she  said  very 
sweetly  and  solemnly: 

' '  I  pray  with  all  my  heart  that  there  may  be  no  more 
great  battles,  and  with  all  my  heart  that  you  may 
never  be  wounded ;  but  if  you  are,  I  will  try  to  come 
to  you,  wherever  you  are." 

He  could  not  answer  her,  but  he  seized  her  hands 
and  held  them  for  a  moment  in  a  grip  under  which 
she  winced  and  could  have  cried  out  for  pain,  but 
would  not.  Then  he  said  under  his  breath: 

"Go  back  quickly,  Eunice,  while  I  am  watching 
you.  Good-by !  God  be  with  you ! ' ' 

For  two  hours  longer  the  firing  kept  up,  and  then 
there  was  another  cessation.  Once  more  Captain 
Rogers  rode  up  to  Dr.  Charlton's  to  bring  instructions. 
Fitzhugh  Lee  had  sent  word  that  every  woman  and 
child  must  leave  town;  he  would  utterly  destroy  the 
town,  and  by  ten  o'clock  next  morning  not  one  stone 
should  be  left  upon  another.  Captain  Rogers  strongly 
urged  on  Dr.  Charlton  that  he  should  take  his  family 
and  Eunice  and  go  out  to  some  farm-house  in  the 
country,  where  he  could  find  a  temporary  refuge. 
Fitzhugh  Lee  was  evidently  infuriated  by  the  stub 
born  and  unexpected  resistance  he  had  met,  and  meant 
what  he  said.  He  had  set  fire  to  every  part  of  the 
town  he  could  reach ;  the  gas-works  were  burning,  the 
barracks  were  ablaze,  and  a  third  great  fire  had  just 
started  up. 


336  IN  OLD   BELLAIRE 

Messengers  had  been  sent  all  over  town  with  Fitz- 
hugh  Lee's  message,  and  already  hundreds,  women 
weeping  and  children  crying,  were  hurrying  by  the 
campus  and  fleeing  to  the  open  country.  But  the  doc 
tor,  looking  at  the  sad  lines  of  refugees,  shook  his  head. 

"No;  our  walls  are  thick;  we  will  stay  here.  I 
would  rather  trust  to  the  fortunes  of  battle  than  sub 
ject  my  tender  family  to  the  certain  hardships  of  ex 
posure  to  the  night,  with  no  surety  of  any  shelter 
being  found." 

Fitzhugh  Lee  had  given  the  people  an  hour  to  get 
out  of  town,  when,  he  said,  the  bombardment  would 
be  renewed  with  redoubled  fury.  But  the  truce  was 
longer  than  an  hour,  and  when  firing  began  again, 
it  seemed  to  Dr.  Charlton  that,  far  from  being  re 
doubled,  it  was  less  furious  than  it  had  Been.  Before 
long  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  It  began  to  be  more 
and  more  desultory,  and  at  length  there  was  only  an 
occasional  shot  at  longer  and  longer  intervals. 

There  were  faint  signs  of  dawn  in  the  east.  Dr. 
Charlton  went  over  to  the  hospital  and  called  Eunice. 

"Come,  Eunice,"  he  said  authoritatively;  "the  day 
is  breaking,  and  I  believe  the  enemy  is  fleeing.  You 
must  come  home  and  get  some  rest,  or  we  will  be  send 
ing  you  to  the  hospital." 

Eunice  knew  he  was  right.  Trembling  flesh  could 
stand  no  more,  for  the  strain  of  the  last  few  hours 
had  been  very  great.  Her  patients  were  quiet,  and 
there  were  no  new  ones  coming  in.  She  was  glad  to 
go  home  with  him  through  the  fresh  and  dewy  campus, 
the  morning  rapidly  brightening  around  them,  the 


SHOT  AND  SHELL  337 

birds  stirring  in  their  nests,  the  firing  almost  or  en 
tirely  ceased. 

They  welcomed  her  home  as  if  she  had  been  gone 
on  a  long  and  dangerous  journey,  and  up-stairs  in 
her  own,  quiet  room,  full  five  minutes  since  the  last 
gun  had  been  fired,  the  birds  caroling  delirious  "Te 
Deums"  that  the  wild  night  was  over,  her  head  upon 
her  pillow,  with  a  sense  of  perfect  peace  and  security 
she  sank  almost  at  once  into  deep,  refreshing  sleep. 

Little  did  she  or  Dr.  Charlton  dream  that  it  was 
to  Rex  the  town  owed  its  deliverance.  On  the  after 
noon  of  that  first  day's  fight  at  Gettysburg,  the  gen 
eral  was  standing  on  the  ridge  near  the  Seminary, 
watching  Ewell's  yelling  veterans  drive  the  Federal 
troops  down  the  slopes  and  across  the  town. 

"Rex,"  he  said  suddenly,  "I  must  have  Stuart. 
To-day's  fight  will  He  as  nothing  compared  with  to 
morrow's.  I  must  have  every  available  man  and  gun. 
Do  you  think  you  can  find  him  for  me  ? ' ' 

"I  think  so,  sir,"  said  Rex;  but  if  his  words  were 
modest,  his  air  was  confident.  He  was  looking  very 
dapper  for  a  Confederate  soldier.  Rex's  love  of  dress 
would  be  one  of  his  last  traits  to  perish.  Were  he  to 
die  in  the  much-vaunted  last  ditch,  he  would  die  as 
well  dressed  as  it  was  possible  to  be.  He  had,  with 
his  own  unskilled  fingers,  embroidered  on  his  collar 
the  star  that  indicated  his  new  rank,  unraveling  a 
bit  of  torn  lace  to  get  the  necessary  gold  thread.  He 
had  also  added  to  his  uniform  an  extra  touch  of  gold 
lace,  ripped  from  a  discarded  one,  and  he  wore  a 


338  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

plume  in  his  hat  in  exact  imitation  of  Stuart's  famous 
plume.  If  Eunice  had  beheld  him,  I  am  not  sure 
that  she  would  have  been  more  pleased  to  see  him  so 
becomingly  arrayed  or  more  displeased  at  the  evi 
dence  of  his  perennial  vanity. 

But  Rex's  vanity  in  dress  interfered  not  at  all  with 
his  duties  as  an  aide.  He  had  been  standing  beside 
his  general,  but  at  his  words  he  sprang  upon  his 
horse,  saluted,  and  was  off.  Long  and  weary  hours 
he  rode  before  he  found  even  a  trace  of  Stuart ;  then, 
near  York,  he  heard  that  he  had  gone  in  the  direction 
of  Bellaire.  It  was  a  magic  word!  Here,  perhaps, 
was  his  chance!  If  he  found  himself  in  Bellaire 
again,  he  would  not  again  miss  seeing  Eunice ;  and  he 
thought,  with  a  little  throb  of  elation,  that  there  would 
be  no  one  to  call  him  away  on  the  very  eve  of  seeing 
her.  For  the  time  being  he  would  be  his  own  master, 
and  though  he  was  due  back  in  Gettysburg  at  the  earli 
est  possible  moment,  five  minutes  he  would  take  to 
look  on  Eunice's  face  once  more. 

But  alas  for  all  such  plans  of  mortals!  Long  be 
fore  he  reached  Bellaire  he  heard  sounds  of  firing  and 
saw  the  sky  aflame.  His  heart  stood  still.  What 
did  it  mean?  What  was  Stuart  about?  Was  Eunice 
in  danger? 

He  spurred  on  his  lagging  horse  and  reached  Stuart 
and  Fitzhugh  Lee  just  after  the  message  had  been  sent 
to  the  women  and  children  of  Bellaire.  He  delivered 
his  own  message,  "Report  at  Gettysburg  immedi 
ately,"  and  told  them  of  the  general's  anxiety  at  their 
long  absence.  Then  he  painted  in  glowing  colors  the 


SHOT   AND  SHELL  339 

glorious  battle  of  the  day  and  the  victory  on  Semi 
nary  Ridge. 

Lee  and  Stuart  were  both  eager  to  be  off  at  once, 
but  it  required  some  little  scheming  to  keep  the  troops 
in  Bellaire  in  ignorance  of  their  departure.  It  was 
finally  arranged  to  leave  a  single  battery  of  three 
guns,  which  should  at  first  keep  up  a  rapid  fire,  and 
then  one  by  one,  they  too  should  steal  away. 

Rex  was  for  having  them  all  go  at  once.  He  could 
not  bear  to  think  of  another  shot  fired  in  Eunice's 
direction,  but  of  course  he  had  no  voice  in  the  matter. 
His  own  horse  was  so  spent  that  he  must  rest  it  awhile, 
and  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  remain  with  the 
battery  left  to  keep  up  the  ruse,  while  the  others 
started  for  South  Mountain  Pass  as  quickly  as  they 
could  get  their  horses  hitched  to  guns  and  caissons. 
There  was  nothing  for  Rex  to  do  while  his  horse  was 
resting,  and  he  thought  he  knew  these  fields  and  roads 
well  enough  to  find  his  way  in  the  dark.  He  skirted 
the  south  side  of  the  town  and  came  up  in  the  west  end, 
where  were  neither  soldiers  nor  fighting. 

The  first  streaks  of  dawn  were  in  the  east  as  he 
entered  the  campus  and  walked  over  toward  Lovers' 
Lane.  The  firing  was  growing  very  desultory;  that 
was  a  signal  that  he  could  not  tarry.  He  walked 
rapidly,  intending,  if  the  way  was  clear,  to  stand  a 
moment  under  Eunice's  window. 

Half-way  across  the  campus  he  suddenly  stopped. 
There  were  lights  in  West  College  and  figures  in  uni 
form  moving  about.  The  dawn  was  spreading  a  lit 
tle;  he  could  see  quite  clearly.  Two  figures,  a  man 


340  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

and  a  woman,  had  just  come  out  of  West  College  and 
were  walking  across  to  the  president's  house.  It  was 
Dr.  Charlton  and  Eunice.  He  stood  and  gazed  with 
straining  eyes,  longing  to  cry  out  to  them  and  not 
daring  because  of  the  blue  uniforms  in  West  College. 
He  watched  them  until  they  passed  through  the  little 
gate  in  the  hedge,  saw  them  mount  the  veranda  steps, 
and  heard  the  hall  door  close  behind  them. 

With  a  great  cry,  as  if  his  heart  had  broken, 
he  turned  and  ran  down  to  the  Iron  Gate,  clanged  it 
recklessly  behind  him,  and,  hardly  caring  whether 
he  ran  into  an  enemy  or  not,  took  the  shortest  route  to 
his  horse.  He  found  the  last  gun  just  moving  off, 
and  silently  mounting,  he  rode  back  through  the  glori 
ous  dawn  of  that  awful  day  of  carnage  to  the  dread 
ful  battle-field  waiting  to  receive  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  FAREWELL  MESSAGE 

NOT  until  late  on  the  second  of  July  did  they 
learn  in  Bellaire  of  that  terrible  battle  raging 
so  near  them.  Morning  had  dawned,  the  hour  of  ten 
had  come  and  gone, — that  hour  at  which  the  town 
was  to  have  been  utterly  destroyed, — and  there  were 
no  signs  of  the  enemy. 

Captain  Rogers  rode  up  to  a  hurried  breakfast  with 
the  Charltons.  He  had  said  good-by  to  his  militia 
company  and  was  off  by  way  of  Henrysburg  to  join 
his  regiment  at  Gettysburg;  there  was  no  going  by 
South  Mountain  Pass,  since  that  way  lay  the  whole  of 
Lee's  army. 

Eunice  was  not  at  breakfast ;  she  was  still  sleeping, 
and  John  would  not  let  Mrs.  Charlton  waken  her. 

"No,"  he  said;  "I  have  so  short  a  time  to  stay,  and 
she  needs  the  sleep.  I  bade  her  good-by  last  night ;  if 
you  will  say  good-by  to  her  again  for  me,  that  will  do 
as  well." 

Better,  he  thought  to  himself  bitterly ;  for,  strive  as 
he  might  against  it,  he  was  greatly  depressed  and  was 
not  sure  enough  of  himself  to  say  good-by  to  Eunice 
again  with  his  spirits  already  at  their  lowest  ebb. 

341 


342  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

Eunice  felt  a  moment  of  keenest  regret  when  she 
found  that  he  had  come  and  gone  without  her  seeing 
him  once  more,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  She 
was  eager  to  be  at  her  work  in  the  hospital  and  anxious 
to  know  how  her  patients  were  doing,  and  heart  and 
hands  were  too  full  for  long  regrets. 

When,  late  in  the  afternoon,  the  tidings  came  that 
this  was  the  second  day  of  a  great  battle  between  the 
two  armies,  perhaps  the  most  deadly  the  war  had  yet 
known,  she  was  as  one  dazed.  All  that  evening  and 
all  the  next  day  she  went  about  as  in  a  dream,  listen 
ing  with  bated  breath  lest  some  dreadful  tidings  come 
of  one  or  the  other  of  her  two  friends  fighting  in  op 
posing  ranks  on  that  terrible  field.  But  none  came, 
and  though  her  heart  lay  dead  within  her,  she  went 
about  her  hospital  duties,  skilfully  applying  dressings 
and  bandages  and  courageously  bringing  to  others  the 
cheer  and  comfort  she  so  much  needed  herself. 

Early  Sunday  morning  the  first  train  came  through 
from  Henrysburg.  The  militia  had  in  some  rough 
fashion  relaid  the  tracks  and  a  train  had  crept  cau 
tiously  over  them  as  far  as  Bellaire.  It  brought  a  little 
company  of  nurses  from  Philadelphia  bound  for  Get 
tysburg.  All  communication  by  rail  was  cut  off  with 
that  town,  and  Bellaire  was  the  nearest  point  to  which 
trains  were  running;  from  there  the  journey  would 
have  to  be  made  in  carriages.  All  day  Saturday,  Lee 's 
army  had  stood  awaiting  Meade's  attack.  It  did  not 
come,  and  on  the  night  of  the  Fourth  they  quietly 
withdrew  toward  the  Potomac.  But  Ewell's  corps,  as 
rear-guard,  was  still  in  Gettysburg  Sunday  morning, 


A  FAREWELL  MESSAGE  343 

and  the  little  company  of  nurses  came  up  to  Dr.  Charl- 
ton's  house  to  wait  for  tidings  that  the  way  was  clear 
for  them  through  South  Mountain  Pass. 

Here  was  the  opportunity  for  which  Eunice's  soul 
had  been  longing.  From  the  moment  she  had  first 
heard  of  the  battle  she  had  been  planning  some  way 
of  getting  there.  Had  she  not  promised  Captain 
Rogers  she  would  go  to  him  if  he  should  be  wounded? 
And  how  else  was  she  to  find  out  whether  or  not  he 
was  wounded  ?  And  still  more  urgent  was  the  thought 
of  Eex.  She  could  hardly  hope  that  he  had  escaped 
again,  when  every  report  was  of  such  terrible  slaugh 
ter  ;  and  perhaps  he,  too,  might  be  wounded  there  and 
needing  her. 

It  was  hard  to  persuade  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton  to 
let  her  go.  The  other  nurses  were  all  older ;  it  seemed 
to  them  both  that  Eunice  was  too  young  and  too  frail 
to  be  sent  into  the  midst  of  such  terrible  scenes.  But 
her  steady,  quiet  persistency — that  little  quality  of 
hers  that  the  doctor  sometimes  called  obstinacy — won 
its  way  at  last.  The  surgeons  in  the  college  hospital 
were  loath  to  part  with  her,  but  ready  to  give  her  a 
certificate  as  an  efficient  nurse  from  her  three  days' 
work  with  them,  and  that  annulled  Dr.  Charlton 's 
final  argument  that  the  authorities  would  not  receive 
her.  The  other  nurses  were  willing  to  take  charge  of 
her,  and  her  way  seemed  so  clear  that  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Charlton  could  no  longer  oppose  a  purpose  that  they 
felt  was  as  steadfast  as  the  hills. 

Horses  were  at  a  premium  in  Bellaire,  for  almost 
every  horse  had  either  been  captured  by  the  Confed- 

23 


344  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

crates  or  driven  away  for  safety.  Dr.  Charlton  had 
undertaken  to  find  some  for  the  little  party,  but  only 
after  long  search  did  he  find  a  sturdy  team  of  farm- 
horses  that  had  been  hidden  away  in  a  cave  in  the 
hills.  They  were  to  start  early  Monday  morning  to 
avoid  the  heat  of  the  day;  and  by  five  o'clock  Mrs. 
Charlton,  the  most  energetic  of  women,  had  given 
them  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  breakfast  and  started 
them  on  their  way.  It  was  a  sad  parting  at  that  early 
hour:  Lucy  was  in  tears,  Millie  was  sobbing  bitterly, 
the  boys  were  trying  in  vain  to  seem  indifferent  and 
pretend  that  some  unmanly  sounds  were  not  of  their 
making,  and  there  was  a  mist  in  the  doctor's  blue  eyes. 
Only  Mrs.  Charlton  was  smiling  bravely.  Now  that 
she  had  fully  made  up  her  mind  to  let  Eunice  go,  it 
seemed  to  her  a  glorious  thing  to  be  doing,  and  she 
could  almost  envy  her  the  heroine's  crown  with  which 
she  had  invested  her. 

Their  way  led  over  the  Hanover  turnpike,  between 
rich  fields  of  grain  trampled  by  the  passing  of  many 
horses  and  men,  and  then  through  beautiful  Mount 
Holly  and  South  Mountain  Pass.  It  was  a  familiar 
road  to  Eunice.  Mount  Holly  was  a  favorite  resort 
with  the  young  people  of  Bellaire  for  picnics  and 
drives  and  sleighing-parties;  and  now,  as  they  passed 
through  its  deep,  shaded  glens  and  climbed  the  moun 
tain  road,  with  the  little  stream  rushing  noisily 
through  a  rocky  ravine  below  them,  Eunice  was  re 
calling  one  of  the  red-letter  days  of  her  life.  It  was 
in  her  first  fall  in  Bellaire,  in  the  beautiful  Indian 
summer,  when  there  had  been  a  nutting-party  to 


A  FAREWELL  MESSAGE  345 

Mount  Holly,  and  they  had  spent  the  long,  golden 
day  wandering  through  the  mountain  dells,  gathering 
chestnuts  and  wintergreens  and  maidenhair  ferns,  all 
the  lovely  spoil  of  the  wild-wood.  After  a  picnic  din 
ner  on  a  mossy  rock  beside  this  very  mountain  stream, 
they  had  started  to  explore  the  rocky  ravine  down 
which  it  tumbled;  and  Eunice,  an  ardent  lover  of 
mountain-climbing  and  with  the  foot  of  a  gazel,  had 
far  outdistanced  the  others— all  but  Rex,  who  would 
not  be  outdistanced ;  and  when  they  found  they  had 
left  the  others  so  far  behind,  they  sat  down  to  wait 
for  them  at  the  head  of  the  glen,  where  the  brook 
tumbled  in  a  foamy  cascade  over  a  rocky  cliff.  Rex 
had  never  before  been  so  gentle  and  winning.  It  was 
in  the  early  days  of  his  reform,  and  he  was  full  of 
earnest  plans  and  noble  ambitions,  which  he  poured 
into  Eunice's  sympathetic  ear  with  all  the  ardor  of 
his  temperament. 

How  often  she  had  thought  of  that  day !  And  how 
long  ago  it  seemed !  It  was  not  three  years,  but  Eu 
nice  felt  that  she  had  lived  a  lifetime  since,  and  the 
Bellaire  of  to-day  was  cold  and  gray  and  stern  com 
pared  with  the  sunny  Bellaire  of  those  Arcadian  days. 

They  crossed  the  summit  of  the  mountain  pass  and 
began  the  descent  of  the  other  side.  They  had  left 
the  little  mountain  stream  and  all  the  associations  with 
Rex  in  those  happy  golden  days,  and  now,  with  every 
onward  mile,  they  were  coming  on  new  traces  of  the 
movements  of  great  armies.  Everywhere  disorder  and 
devastation.  Eunice's  thoughts  were  no  longer  with 
the  Rex  of  the  past;  she  was  looking  forward  trem- 


346  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

blingly,  fearfully,  hopefully,  to  the  possibility  of  see 
ing  him  in  Gettysburg.  Yet  she  knew  it  could  be  only 
as  a  prisoner,  or  wounded  or  dying,  that  she  could 
hope  to  see  him,  and  horror  and  shrinking  dread 
crushed  out  the  hope. 

Eunice  had  been  two  days  in  Gettysburg.  With  a 
resolution  that  was  like  iron,  and  that  no  one  could 
have  dreamed  of  finding  in  that  slight  girl,  she  steeled 
her  heart  against  the  horrors  that  met  her  on  every 
side,  and  went  about  the  ward  to  which  she  had  been 
assigned  with  such  calm  and  ready  cheerfulness  as 
made  her  a  tower  of  strength  to  the  surgeons  and  an 
angel  of  light  to  the  suffering  men. 

As  she  entered  her  ward  on  the  morning  of  the  third 
day,  she  came  upon  a  face  she  had  been  looking  for, 
feeling  sure  in  her  heart  that  she  would  come  upon 
it  some  day.  It  was  John  Rogers,  and  he  lay  so  mo 
tionless,  his  face  so  white,  his  eyes  closed,  she  would 
have  thought  him  dead  but  that  she  knew  the  dead 
were  not  in  hospitals.  He  had  been  brought  in  from 
the  operating-room,  and  the  surgeon  of  the  ward  gave 
him  into  Eunice's  charge  as  a  very  ill  patient  who 
would  need  special  care. 

Eunice  could  not  neglect  her  other  patients,  but 
there  were  hours  that  belonged  to  herself  to  do  what 
she  pleased,  and  those  hours  she  devoted  to  him.  For 
days  he  lay  in  a  stupor,  hovering  between  life  and 
death,  dead  to  the  world  about  him ;  but  when  at  last 
the  light  of  consciousness  returned  to  his  eyes  and  they 
fell  on  Eunice  sitting  by  his  side,  there  was  no  sur- 


A  FAEEWELL  MESSAGE  347 

prise  in  them,  only  a  great  joy.  Once  started  on  the 
road  of  recovery,  he  grew  rapidly  better.  Just  to  see 
her  moving  about  him,  ministering  to  his  wants,  he 
said,  was  enough  to  bring  him  back  from  the  brink  of 
the  grave,  and  he  insisted  that  he  had  been  conscious 
of  her  presence  through  all  his  unconsciousness,  and 
that  that  alone  had  brought  him  back  to  life. 

One  day,  as  Eunice  in  one  of  her  free  hours  was  sit 
ting  by  his  cot,  talking  gently  to  him  of  sweet  and 
happy  things,  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  not  listen 
ing.  He  was  restless  and  his  attention  wandered.  Eu 
nice  feared  she  was  tiring  him,  and  rose  to  go. 

"Don't  go,  Eunice,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  quiet 
authority.  ' '  Sit  down  again,  please ;  I  have  something 
to  tell  you." 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute  as  she  sat  down  again, 
and  Eunice  was  vaguely  frightened.  There  was  some 
thing  indefinable  in  his  manner  that  suggested  evil 
tidings ;  and  as  if  in  premonition  of  what  was  coming, 
her  heart  began  to  beat  heavily. 

"Eunice,"  he  began  at  last,  slowly,  and  with  evi 
dent  effort, ' '  I  have  been  waiting  to  get  strong  enough 
to  tell  you  my  story.  I  am  getting  well  so  fast  now, 
under  your  skilful  nursing,  they  will  be  sending  me 
home  in  a  few  days,  and  I  must  not  wait  any  longer. 
Dear  friend,"  and  his  voice  faltered  a  little,  "it  may 
be  that  I  have  sad  news  for  you;  but  remember,  as 
you  listen,  that  I  am  not  at  all  certain  that  my  fears 
are  true.  There  may  have  been  a  happier  ending  to 
my  story  than  seemed  possible  to  me  then.  Hope  for 
the  best  as  long  as  you  are  not  sure  of  the  worst. ' ' 


348  IN  OLD  BELLAIRB 

He  waited  a  moment,  as  if  for  her  to  speak ;  but  a 
great  dread  had  taken  possession  of  her,  she  could 
hardly  breathe,  and  speech  was  impossible. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  strong  enough  to  listen  to 
me,  Eunice?"  he  asked  anxiously,  seeing  the  color 
come  and  go  in  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  widening  with 
terror. 

She  nodded  with  an  imploring  gesture,  and  in  an 
swer  to  it  he  went  on : 

' 1 1  was  lying  wounded  on  the  slope  of  Little  Round 
Top  that  second  dreadful  day  of  the  fight.  It  was 
the  evening  of  the  day  I  left  Bellaire— only  a  few 
hours  since  I  had  seen  you.  The  rush  of  battle  had 
passed  on  and  left  me  lying  there — dying,  I  thought. 
My  eyes  were  closed,  when  I  heard  my  name  feebly 
called,  and  I  turned  in  surprise  to  find  a  Confederate 
lying  near  me,  wounded  much  more  severely  than  I.  I 
did  not  recognize  him  at  first,  until  he  spoke  again, 
and  then  I  knew  it  was  Rex  McAllister.  We  could 
neither  of  us  move,  but  we  were  near  enough  to  stretch 
out  our  hands  to  each  other,  and  I  never  clasped  a  bro 
ther's  hand  more  warmly  or  more  gladly  than  I  did 
his.  He  told  me  that  he  was  dying,  and  asked  of  you. 
I  told  him  all  I  knew  of  you,  and  what  reason  I  had 
for  knowing  that  you  loved  him  as  dearly  as  ever. 
His  eyes,  that  seemed  to  me  to  be  fast  growing  dim, 
brightened  as  I  spoke,  and  his  face  lighted  up  with  a 
smile. 

' '  '  God  bless  her ! '  he  whispered.  '  Tell  her  that  my 
last  thoughts  were  of  her,  and  that  I  have  loved  her 
every  moment  since  I  left  her.' 


A  FAREWELL  MESSAGE  349 

"And  then  I  performed  a  heroic  act  of  self -sacri 
fice.  I  took  from  my  buttonhole  the  little  ribbon  that 
is  dingy  and  colorless  now,  but  that  had  been  with  me 
in  every  battle  and  march  since  last  September,  and 
told  him,  whose  it  was  and  how  I  got  it,  and  gave  it 
to  him.  He  thanked  me  with  a  look,  and  laid  it  on  his 
lips;  and  then  we  were  both  too  weak  to  talk  any 
more,  and  we  lay  there,  hand  in  hand,  until  some  of 
his  men  came  up  with  a  flag  of  truce  to  carry  him 
away.  He  had  fainted,  I  think,  when  they  took  him 
up,  and  the  ribbon  still  lay  on  his  lips.  I  was  afraid 
it  would  be  lost,  and  I  asked  them  to  tie  it  in  his  but 
tonhole,  and  they  did  so  very  reverently. ' ' 

Eunice  was  weeping  as  if  her  heart  had  broken,  but 
silently,  that  no  one  in  the  cots  near  by  might  know. 
She  had  buried  her  face  in  the  coverlet  of  John's  cot, 
and  her  stifled,  heartbroken  sobs  shook  him  where  he 
lay.  He  put  his  hand  tenderly  on  her  brown  curls. 

"Dear  friend,"  he  whispered,  "you  must  not  sor 
row  as  one  without  hope.  He  thought  he  was  dying, 
but  it  may  be  that  he  was  mistaken.  He  may  yet  be 
living;  do  not  give  up  all  hope  until  you  are  sure. 
Wait  until  the  war  is  over. ' ' 

Eunice  had  no  hope.  She  had  always  believed  that 
this  blow  was  preparing  for  her,  and  now  it  had 
fallen.  But  she  had  strength  beyond  the  strength 
given  to  most  women,  and,  crushing  back  her  sorrow 
for  the  time,  she  lifted  her  head,  smiled  faintly,  and 
whispered : 

"I  willtry." 

Then— she  did  not  know  why  she  did  it,  perhaps 


350  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

because  the  eyes  that  met  hers  were  brimming  over 
with  sympathy  and  tenderness,  perhaps  because  she 
believed  he,  too,  loved  Rex — she  seized  in  both  her 
own  hands  the  hand  that  had  rested  so  tenderly  on 
her  head,  pressed  it  convulsively  to  her  heart  for  an 
instant,  rose  quickly,  and  fled. 

John  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  groaned  under 
his  breath: 

"O  God,  how  can  I  bear  it!  How  can  I  bear  it! 
O  happy,  happy  Rex!" 

It  was  weeks  later  that  there  came  to  Eunice  a  sud 
den  wonder  that  Mr.  Rogers  should  have  kept  that  bit 
of  ribbon  so  long  and  cared  for  it  so  much ;  and  a  slow 
inkling  of  the  truth  sent  the  warm  blood  rushing  to 
her  face  and  then  flowing  back  in  pity  and  regret  to 
her  heart. 

He  was  no  longer  in  the  hospital ;  he  had  been  gone 
for  weeks,  and  was  now  spending  his  convalescence 
with  his  nearest  relative,  a  distant  cousin.  But  Eunice 
had  stayed  on ;  she  had  found  the  one  work  that  could 
comfort  her  in  her  great  sorrow.  She  did  not  even  go 
back  to  Bellaire.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Charlton  and  Lucy 
came  over  to  see  her,  bringing  with  them  such  of  her 
belongings  as  she  needed  and  sending  the  rest  to  her 
New  England  home ;  but  to  all  their  entreaties  to  come 
back  with  them  to  Bellaire,  she  made  one  steadfast 
reply : 

' '  I  cannot  leave  my  work. ' ' 

She  did  not  dare  leave  it  until  the  very  latest  mo 
ment  at  which  she  could  reach  her  new  school  and  be 


On  the  battle-field. 


A  FAREWELL  MESSAGE  351 

ready  to  begin  the  fall  teaching.  One  day  of  idleness, 
one  hour  not  filled  with  cares  and  anxieties  for  the  sick 
and  suffering,  might  easily  undermine  all  her  care 
fully  builded  fabric  of  self-control. 

And  yet  John's  story  had  not  brought  her  all  pain; 
it  was  a  joy  to  know  that  Rex  had  loved  her  through 
these  long  years,  when  sometimes  she  had  almost  be 
lieved  he  had  forgotten  her.  And  to  know  that  he 
had  died  so  nobly  (for  Eunice  recognized  that,  what 
ever  the  cause  might  be,  the  devotion  to  it  was  noble) 
helped  greatly  to  soothe  the  pain  of  knowing  that  she 
would  never  see  him  again. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

AFTER  POUR  YEARS 

THE  Northumberland  Valley  lies  smiling  under 
June  skies  blue  as  Italy's,  and  bending  over  a 
happy  country,  once  more  at  peace. 

It  is  the  June  of  '65 ;  the  war  is  over,  and  Eunice 
is  coming,  at  the  earnest  invitation  of  the  Charltons, 
to  spend  Commencement  with  them.  She  steps  from 
the  train  into  the  same  busy  scene  that  had  bewildered 
her  almost  five  years  before,  and  there  is  the  same 
scholarly  figure  waiting  to  meet  her  with  the  same 
beaming  smile  in  the  kind  blue  eyes,  but  bending  now 
to  greet  her  with  a  kiss  as  he  says  in  his  cordial  way, 
"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear  Eunice." 

There  is  but  little  change  in  his  dress.  Still  the 
high  silk  stock  and  the  swallowtail  and  the  beaver  hat ; 
but  Eunice  notes  changes  in  the  face  that  has  become 
very  dear  to  her.  There  are  lines  about  the  eyes  and 
mouth  that  did  not  use  to  be  there,  and  they  tell  of 
great  anxieties  and  wearing  cares.  The  figure  is  a 
little  more  bent,  and  the  temples  are  whitened ;  but  it 
is  a  beautiful  face  to  Eunice,  and  she  glows  with  plea 
sure  at  his  kiss,  which  she  modestly  returns. 

"Judge,"  absolutely  unchanged,  is  waiting  for  her 
352 


AFTER  FOUR  YEARS  353 

trunk,  grinning  delightedly,  and  pulling  his  bunch  of 
wool  energetically  at  her  kind  "How  do  you  do, 
'Judge'?" 

And  on  the  Burton  steps  are  almost  the  same  group 
watching  the  arrival  of  the  train  as  on  that  golden 
September  morning.  Not  quite  the  same.  Miss  Lydia 
is  not  there,  nor  the  young  officer;  for  Miss  Lydia  is 
Mrs.  Lieutenant  "Watson  of  the  barracks,  and  another 
officer  has  taken  the  lieutenant's  place.  And  Rex  is 
not  there,  of  course,  but  a  figure  so  much  like  his  is 
standing  in  much  the  same  attitude  in  which  she  first 
saw  him,  that  Eunice  with  difficulty  represses  an  eager 
start. 

They  pass  through  the  Iron  Gate,  and  hear  it  clang 
behind  them,  a  sound  fraught  with  so  many  memories, 
and  some  of  them  so  sad,  that  the  quick  tears  spring 
to  Eunice's  eyes.  And  then  through  Lover's  Lane, 
beautiful  in  its  heavy  June  leafage,  and  hallowed 
ground  to  Eunice,  who  feels  like  one  who  treads  rev 
erently  in  sacred  places. 

At  the  door  are  Mrs.  Charlton  and  Lucy,  the  "Big 
Boys"  and  the  younger  children,  and,  in  the  back 
ground,  Alcinda,  Charles  Cook,  junior,  and  little  Cin- 
die.  Alcinda 's  doleful  prediction  that  she  would  never 
return  had  not  been  fulfilled.  Nothing  could  keep 
her  long  away  from  her  loved  Bellaire. 

What  changes  four  years  can  make!  Mrs.  Charl 
ton 's  glossy  curls  have  many  a  streak  of  gray,  and  the 
strain  of  those  terrible  years  shows  itself  in  lines 
graven  by  a  hard  and  cruel  chisel;  but  her  eyes  are 
as  bright  and  her  voice  as  sweet  as  of  old  when  she 


354  IN  OLD  BELLAIBE 

clasps  Eunice  in  her  arms.  Lucy  shows  no  signs 
of  care.  She  has  blossomed  into  a  beautiful  woman 
hood,  and  the  greeting  of  the  two  girls  has  lost  none 
of  its  warmth  by  so  long  an  absence.  The  "Big 
Boys"  are  almost  young  men  now,  and  come  for 
ward  bashfully  to  shake  hands  with  Miss  Eunice. 
Millie  is  a  shy,  graceful  girl  just  entering  her  teens, 
and  the  three  younger  children  have  grown  out  of 
all  recognition,  though  not  of  remembrance;  and 
by  the  time  she  has  shaken  hands  with  Alcinda, 
Charles  Cook,  junior,  and  Ciudie,  and  received  their 
hearty  greetings,  Eunice  feels  she  has  had  a  royal 
welcome  home. 

In  the  evening  she  steals  away  a  few  minutes  from 
the  family  circle,  who  are  so  happy  to  have  her  with 
them  that  they  can  hardly  bear  to  have  her  out  of 
their  sight  for  a  moment,  and  goes  down  by  the  little 
gate  that  leads  into  Lovers '  Lane,  and  there  for  a  few 
hallowed  moments  lives  over  that  last  meeting  with 
Rex,  the  most  intense  hour  of  all  her  life,  and  takes 
from  its  hiding-place  the  little  note  she  received  the 
morning  he  left  Bellaire  and  reads  it  over  and  over 
with  such  smiles  and  tears  and  ardent  kisses  that  had 
there  been  any  spectator  he  would  never  have  recog 
nized  the  demure  and  prim  little  Yankee  school 
teacher. 

How  has  her  tender  heart  been  torn  afresh  by  re 
visiting  these  scenes  so  allied  with  memories  of  him ! 
Every  leaf  on  the  trees  above  her  whisper  to  her  of 
Rex,  and,  with  eyes  uplifted  to  the  skies,  she  breathes 
now  the  vows  Rex  could  not  compel  from  her  then. 


AFTER  FOUR  YEARS  355 

She  does  not  dare  to  stay  long  away,  but  goes  back 
to  the  parlor  and  sits  in  the  very  chair  Bex  sat  in  that 
December  morning  when  he  first  told  her  his  love.  In 
her  lap  sits  Baby  Ned,  a  big  six-year-old  boy,  but  still 
the  baby,  and  by  her  side  is  Mille,  looking  with  beam 
ing  eyes  on  the  Miss  Eunice  of  her  childish  adoration. 

"Where  is  your  shuttle,  Eunice?"  says  the  doctor, 
pleasantly;  "I  shall  not  feel  you  are  quite  at  home 
until  I  see  that  in  your  hands." 

"Oh,  I  have  given  up  my  tatting,"  Eunice  answers, 
smiling;  "I  like  to  sit  now  with  idle  hands  and 
dream. ' ' 

And  somehow  the  doctor  and  his  wife  feel  that  this 
is  an  outward  sign  of  an  intangible  change  that  has 
come  over  Eunice. 

She  sleeps  in  her  old  room  that  night,  and  rising 
early  the  next  morning  from  restless  dreams,  she  slips 
quietly  down-stairs,  and  out  into  the  beautiful  dewy 
morning,  and  wanders  around  the  dear  old  garden, 
now  a  wilderness  of  roses,  greeting  every  remembered 
bush  and  tree,  and  pinning  in  her  hair  a  white  rose 
like  the  one  she  had  once  thrown  down  to  Rex. 

When  it  is  near  enough  to  breakfast-time  to  be  in 
no  danger  of  disturbing  the  sleepers  with  her  music, 
she  goes  back  to  the  parlor.  The  long  windows  are 
open  on  the  veranda ;  the  honeysuckle  on  the  lattice  is 
in  full  bloom,  and  the  room  is  filled  with  its  fragrance, 
mingled  with  the  sweet  breath  of  roses  from  the  gar 
den.  She  has  just  heard  a  train  pass,  and  thinks  of 
the  early  train  that  bore  Rex  away  that  April  morn 
ing.  Her  heart  is  filled  with  love  and  longing,  and  she 


356  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

sits  down  to  the  familiar  piano  and  sings,  "Lorena," 
that  old-fashioned  song,  powerless  now  to  evoke  any 
stronger  emotion  than  a  smile  of  toleration,  but  new 
then,  and  esteemed  as  the  very  soul  of  pathos. 

She  does  not  hear  a  step  on  the  veranda ;  her  whole 
heart  is  in  the  words  she  is  singing.  But  the  step  is 
there,  nevertheless,  and  it  belongs  to  a  tall  figure  clad 
in  a  suit  of  gray  evidently  new  and  roughly  made,  but 
sitting  with  a  certain  grace  on  the  symmetrical  form, 
and  in  the  buttonhole  is  a  dingy  bit  of  ribbon.  He  car 
ries  in  his  hand  his  hat,  a  broad  palmetto,  and  his 
noble  head,  covered  with  thick,  dark  curls,  is  bent 
sagerly  forward,  listening  to  the  song. 

She  is  singing  with  infinite  tenderness : 

"A  duty  stern  and  pressing  broke 

The  tie  that  bound  thy  heart  to  mine." 

After  a  while  he  ventures  to  step  inside  the  window, 
and  still  Eunice  does  not  hear  him.  She  is  singing 
now: 

"A  hundred  months  have  passed,  Lorena, 
Since  last  I  held  that  hand  in  mine." 

He  cannot  see  her,— she  is  in  the  farther  parlor, — 
but  he  would  have  fancied  the  voice  was  one  he  had 
once  known,  but  for  the  pathos  and  soul  in  the  tones 
he  had  sometimes  thought  a  little  hard  and  cold.  He 
ventures  a  little  farther,  where  he  can  see  the  singer, 
and  still  Eunice  sings  on  and  neither  hears  nor  sees 
him.  And  now  she  has  come  to  the  last  verse,  and  with 
what  holy  rapture  she  sings: 


AFTER  FOUR  YEARS  357 

"There  is  a  future — oh,  thank  God, 

Of  life  this  is  so  small  a  parti 
'T  is  dust  to  dust  beneath  the  sod, 
But  there,  up  there,  't  is  heart  to  heart." 


If  this  is  Eunice,  it  is  a  more  beautiful  Eunice  than 
the  Eunice  of  his  dreams.  The  face  has  grown  softer 
and  rounder;  the  curls,  caught  back  and  tied  loosely 
behind,  give  a  more  graceful  contour  to  the  head ;  and 
the  brown  hair,  no  longer  brushed  into  severe  plain 
ness,  ripples  in  soft  waves  about  the  face.  He  cannot 
be  quite  sure  it  is  Eunice :  only  the  clinging  gray  dress 
and  the  white  rose  in  her  hair  are  unchanged.  He 
waits  until  the  last  word  of  her  song  dies  away,  and 
then  he  says  softly; 

"Eunice!" 

She  springs  from  the  piano  and  looks  at  him  with 
a  startled,  unrecognizing  glance.  There  is  no  mis 
taking  those  blue-gray  eyes  with  their  long  lashes,  and 
quiet  even  now  with  that  startled  look  in  them.  Sho 
sees  before  her  a  tall,  bronzed  man  with  heavy  closely 
trimmed  beard,  whose  dark  eyes  gaze  steadily  into 
hers.  There  is  no  boldness  in  their  gaze,  and  there 
lurks  a  sadness  in  their  depths  that  future  years  of 
joy  can  never  wholly  drive  away.  But  there  is  a  look 
of  love  in  them,  too,  that  Eunice  has  never  seen  in  any 
other  eyes,  and  at  last  she  knows  him.  She  starts  to 
ward  him  and  murmurs  ' '  Rex, ' '  and  then  would  have 
fallen,  but  that  he  catches  her  and,  holding  her  in  his 
arms,  calls  upon  her  by  every  endearing  name,  kiss 
ing  her  forehead,  her  drooping  lids,  her  hands,  but 


358  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

never  once  her  lips,  until  she  opens  her  eyes  and  smiles 
up  at  him.  And  then  what  does  this  coy  Puritan 
maiden  do,  but  lift  her  arms  and  put  them  about  his 
neck  and  whisper,  "Rex,  I  love  you,  and  I  will  be 
your  wife."  And  at  last  he  takes  from  her  lips  the 
kiss  for  which  he  has  been  waiting  for  more  than  four 
years. 

It  is  half  an  hour  later.  Rex  has  been  warmly  wel 
comed  by  the  family ;  with  shouts  of  delight  from  the 
younger  children,  who  have  not  forgotten  "Cousin 
Rex ' ' ;  with  shy  pleasure  by  Lucy,  who  can  hardly  re 
alize  that  this  bronzed  and  bearded  stranger  is  the 
young  exquisite  of  four  years  ago ;  and  with  a  hand 
clasp  from  the  doctor  more  cordial  than  any  Rex  had 
ever  received  in  his  college  days.  But  next  to  Eu 
nice's  greeting,  Mrs.  Charlton's  touches  him  most. 
She  looks  up  at  him,  while  her  dark  eyes  shine  with 
something  softer  and  brighter  than  their  natural  bril 
liance,  and  when  he  would  have  bent  to  kiss  the  hand 
that  trembles  in  his,  she  checks  him  and,  putting  her 
arm  around  his  neck  just  as  his  mother  would  have 
done,  whispers,  "My  dear  boy,  thank  God  you  have 
come  back  to  us ! "  and  kisses  him  as  his  mother  would 
have  kissed  him. 

Now,  a  half-hour  later,  he  is  sitting  at  the  pleasant 
breakfast-table,  where  he  sat  on  that  December  morn 
ing  four  and  a  half  years  before.  It  is  not  December 
now.  No  glowing  fire  is  filling  the  room  with  ruddy 
warmth.  The  windows  and  the  glass  doors  opening 
on  the  piazza  all  stand  open  wide,  and  the  room  is  full 


AFTER  FOUR  YEARS  359 

of  the  sweet  odors  of  honeysuckle  and  roses,  and  a  soft 
summer  zephyr  stirs  the  muslin  draperies  at  the  win 
dows  flecked  with  shadows  from  the  great  linden  out 
side.  He  is  not  now  sitting  opposite  Eunice.  Mrs. 
Charlton  has  divined  at  once,  though  no  explanation 
has  been  offered,  that  he  has  a  right  to  claim  the  seat 
she  has  given  him  at  Eunice's  side.  He  takes  it 
proudly,  and  there  is  no  attempt  at  concealment  in  the 
tenderness  that  beams  from  his  eyes  whenever  they 
fall  upon  Eunice,  or  the  love  and  devotion  in  his  air 
when  he  offers  her  the  simplest  courtesies  of  the 
table. 

And  as  Rex  looks  around  the  familiar  room,  so  un 
changed,  he  feels  as  if  the  last  four  years  must  be  some 
awful  dream.  Mrs.  Charlton,  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment,  looks  scarcely  a  day  older  than  when  he  saw 
her  last.  The  lines  of  care  and  anxiety  will  return 
after  a  while;  but  joy,  the  great  rejuvenator,  has 
smoothed  them  all  out  for  the  time,  and  she  sits  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  in  the  freshest  of  breakfast-caps 
and  the  daintiest  of  morning  gowns,  the  same  beaming 
and  gracious  hostess  he  remembers  so  well. 

As  for  the  doctor — well,  the  doctor  is  guilty  of  one 
of  his  most  execrable  puns,  and  Mrs.  Charlton  not 
only  does  not  frown  it  down,  but  hails  it  as  a  happy 
omen.  For  in  the  dark  and  terrible  days  of  the  war, 
when  the  burden  of  the  college  and  his  own  burdens 
rested  so  heavily  on  him,  and  even  the  fate  of  his  be 
loved  country  seemed  sometimes  doubtful,  the  good 
doctor  had  almost  forgotten  how  to  pun.  Now,  as 
Charles  Cook,  junior,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear  with 

24 


360  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

delight  at  "Marse  Rex's"  return,  brings  in  the  fra 
grant  and  steaming  coffee-pot,  the  doctor,  rubbing  his 
hands  slowly  with  anticipatory  delight  partly  in  the 
delicious  draught  he  is  expecting  and  partly  in  the 
pun  he  is  about  to  perpetrate,  says  with  the  old 
twinkle  in  his  eye: 

"Mr.  McAllister,  during  the  war  we  were  reduced 
to  drinking  pure  and  unadulterated  rye-oh;  but  now, 
if  my  olfactory  nerves  do  not  moch-a  me,  we  can  offer 
you  something  better." 

In  his  palmiest  days  the  doctor  had  never  made  a 
worse  pun,  but  tears  of  joy  actually  stand  in  Mrs. 
Charlton's  eyes  to  see  him  so  like  his  old  self  once 
more. 

There  is  much  innocent  hilarity  throughout  the 
meal.  Charles  Cook,  junior's,  broad  grin  expands  oc 
casionally  into  a  half-suppressed  chuckle  of  delight, 
and  little  Cindie,  under  the  pretext  of  helping  her 
brother,  comes  in  with  a  tray,  and  stands  where  her 
round  eyes  of  wonder  and  admiration  never  leave 
Rex's  face.  Even  Alcinda  is  not  willing  to  be  left 
entirely  out.  She  brings  in  one  plate  of  waffles  her 
self  (and  never  have  Alcinda 's  waffles  been  so  crisp 
and  delicately  browned  and  altogether  perfect  as  on 
this  morning),  and  announces  her  desire  of  "seeing 
Marse  Mac  alive  again  with  her  own  eyes."  Rex 
shakes  hands  with  her,  and  his  ' '  Howdy,  aunty  ? ' '  has 
much  of  the  old  gay  ring  in  it,  while  Alcinda  stands 
a  minute  after  he  has  dropped  her  hand  and  shakes 
her  head  solemnly: 

"Yon   's  shore   'nuff  changed,  honey.     Dunno   's 


AFTER  FOUR  YEARS  361 

I'd  'a'  knowed  you,  you's  got  to  be  sech  a  fine,  ban- 
some  genelman."  At  which  doubtful  compliment 
everybody  laughs,  and  Alcinda,  much  abashed  or  pre 
tending  to  be,  retreats  to  her  kitchen. 

But  now  the  happy  meal,  at  which  everybody  has 
talked  much  and  eaten  little,  is  over.  The  big  Bible 
is  brought  out,  the  thanksgiving  psalm  is  read,  and 
tenderly  and  earnestly  Dr.  Charlton  offers  up  his  pe 
tition  for  blessings  on  the  two  dear  ones,  and  grateful 
thanks  that  "it  has  been  permitted  us  to  see  their 
faces  once  more."  A  little  hush  rests  on  them  all 
as  they  rise  from  their  knees,  and  Alcinda  is  audibly 
sniffling — for  the  Charltons  have  never  departed  from 
the  good  old  custom  of  having  the  servants  in  to  fam 
ily  prayers.  To  cover  her  weakness  she  sends  Charles 
Cook,  junior,  flying  for  the  dish-pan  and  towels  with 
even  more  than  her  usual  asperity,  and  impresses 
Cindie  into  the  service  of  helping  to  clear  the  table. 
And  in  a  very  few  minutes  the  heavy  dishes  have  all 
been  carried  out  to  the  kitchen,  and  Mrs.  Charlton 
and  Lucy,  in  the  whitest  of  aprons,  are  deep  in  the 
mysteries  of  "doing  the  breakfast  dishes";  for  no 
good  Southern  housewife  would  omit  that  after- 
breakfast  ceremony  by  which  she  is  assured  that  at 
least  once  a  day  silver  and  glass  and  china  are  as 
immaculate  as  plenty  of  hot  water  and  soap  and  polish 
ing  with  clean,  dry  towels  can  make  them. 

It  is  the  beginning  of  the  long  summer  vacation, 
and  the  boys  have  flown,  like  arrows  released  from  the 
bow,  the  moment  prayers  are  over,  and  carried  Millie 
with  them  to  show  her  a  bumblebee's  nest  which  they 


362  IN  OLD  BELLAIRE 

have  discovered  in  the  orchard  and  which  they  intend 
to  "take"  this  morning. 

The  doctor  and  Eunice  and  Rex  are  lingering  in 
the  deep  alcove  by  the  open  doors,  enjoying  the  sweet 
sights  and  sounds  and  odors  of  the  June  morning. 
Suddenly  the  doctor  turns  to  Rex: 

"Mr.  McAllister,  I  can  hardly  understand  how  you 
came  to  make  us  this  visit,  so  soon  after  the  close  of 
the  war  and  with  the  country  still  in  such  an  un 
settled  state.  I  should  think  you  would  have  found 
it  very  difficult." 

"I  did  find  some  difficulties,  sir,"  answers  Rex. 
"Many  of  the  railroads  are  not  yet  in  running  order. 
I  had  to  tramp  part  of  the  way,  hut  I  generally 
found  an  old  farm-wagon  going  my  road  and  got 
a  'lift.'  It  'e  a  slow  way  to  travel,— I  have  been  al 
most  two  weeks  on  the  road,— but  I  did  not  mind  it; 
I  'had  the  hope  before  me  of  hearing  something  of  a 
dear  friend  at  the  end  of  my  journey.  I  would  joy 
fully  have  footed  every  step  of  the  way  if  I  had  known 
she  was  waiting  for  me  here." 

Rex  speaks  with  a  proud  ring  in  his  voice  that 
carries  his  words  to  Mrs.  Charlton.  She  drops  her  tea- 
towel  and  listens,  her  face  glowing  with  eager  sym 
pathy.  Rex  goes  on,  his  dark  eyes  bent  on  Eunice, 
full  of  love  and  tenderness,  But  with  a  touch  of  hu 
mility  and  hesitation  in  their  depths,  and  in  the  voice 
that  trembles  as  he  speaks,  that  are  very  new  and 
strange  to  see  in  the  proud  South  Carolinian : 

"I  hope  to  take  her  home  with  me,  doctor;  and  yet 
I  hardly  dare  ask  her  to  share  the  fortunes  of  a  ruined 


AFTER  FOUR  YEARS  363 

man,  when  I  had  once  hoped  to  surround  her  with 
every  luxury  a  queen  could  command.  There  is  noth 
ing  left  to  me  but  the  land  and  the  old  home, — ; 
thank  God,  that  did  not  lie  in  Sherman's  path!  And 
now  I  must  go  to  work  with  my  own  hands  and  with 
what  brains  I  possess,  if  I  am  ever  to  recover  even 
a  fragment  of  my  shattered  fortunes.  But  if  she  will 
go  with  me,  labor  will  be  joy,  and  no  hardship  severe 
enough,  to  prove  my  love. ' ' 

Eunice  does  not  speak,  but  she  turns  to  him  and 
puts  her  hand  in  his,  and  looks  up  at  him  with  such 
love  and  trust  shining  in  her  quiet  eyes,  it  is  better 
than  any  answer  she  could  have  made. 

It  is  Dr.  Charlton  who  speaks,  and  who  for  the 
first  time  drops  the  formal  "Mr.  McAllister." 

"God  bless  you,  Rex!"  he  says  earnestly  and  sol 
emnly  j  and  as  he  speaks  he  lays  his  hand  gently  on 
Eunice's  brown  curls,  and  so  includes  her  in  the  bene 
diction. 


,.[£?°.U™.™  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    000  920  297    9 


